


Born Under a Bad Sign

by Mikimoo



Category: DCU
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-19
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:59:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 104,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo/pseuds/Mikimoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is in ruins, the justice league is gone, and like many others who have tried fighting for their freedom, Jason Todd is in prison. He finds help from an unexpected source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: the first section of this fic will be set almost entirely in a prison – so expect some very adult themes; Violence and the threat of sexual violence, torture and fucked up situations. I will give detailed warnings chapter by chapter and if you would rather get a synopsis of the more explicit chapters PM me and I will send you one!

Gotham was a city that loomed; she towered above her streets and old, gnarled buildings stood side by side with newer more modern constructions that shone with reflective glass.

Or they had, before the fall. 

Now half were crumbled, inhabited by desperate people, survivors of another cataclysmic event. You would think Gotham and her citizens had suffered enough, but apparently fate had one last stone to throw at her. 

Jim Gordon’s feelings about the city had always been as muddied as the water that lined her streets after a rain. He loved her, and he loathed her.

But it hurt him to see her so battered and her people so lost.

She stretched away below the streets too, tunnels and sewers like pervasive roots under the city. And it was this dark underbelly that gave Jim and his ragbag collection of survivor’s sanctuary.

Jim poured himself a cup of week, lukewarm coffee from his thermos and looked over the city from his watch post. He, Gotham, and her people had gone through a lot together and he had feared this might be the end, but his city’s people were like rats. He didn’t mean this as an insult - on the contrary; they were used to dark places, hardy, tenacious and adaptable, they survived against all odds and he loved them all the more for it. That wasn’t to say they were all good people worthy of his respect though. Today had been rough - he had the unhappy task of prosecuting his own people; if they were caught stealing or worse they would be locked in the cells below the city, fed on scraps. It was no way to live, but there was no other way to keep order except for outright execution, and he would rather avoid killing his own kind when the Anathema were so happy to do it for him.

It had taken three days to bring the city to her knees, three days. The world had followed in only a few scant weeks.

No one was coming to rescue them.

There was a slight rustle of cloth behind him and Jim spun around. Robin looked up at him through the white lenses of his mask. He held out a few bags, no doubt containing medicine or food – it was becoming more and more risky to find even the necessities, and Jim suspected Robin had taken to raiding Anathema supply trucks, a very dangerous thing to do.

He took the bags, needles, antibiotics and painkillers. “Thank you Robin,” he said. The kid looked exhausted and beaten down - his uniform was tattered, the laces on his boots didn’t match and his mask was held on with tape. “Coffee?” Jim offered, holding out his battered cup. Robin took it with a muttered thanks; he looked like an old man, weighed down with the weight of the world.

“How you holding up kid?” Jim asked

“Better than you old man.” He was clearly trying for his old arrogance, but he just sounded tired.

“How’s Red Robin?” He wished he didn’t have to ask.

“Still dying.”

Jim winced. He has spent a life time dealing with people and had developed a good sense of body language. Robin was upset, afraid in a way Jim hadn’t seen him show before. It was the fear of loss, of the survivor.

The fear of being alone.

Jim wished he could take some of the weight from those narrow shoulders. “You should bring him here” he said, but he knew it was pointless. “We have a nurse, and you wont have to care for him by yourself”. You wont have to be alone.

“No. Vigilantes are worth food, currency, safety – do you think for one minute that there isn’t one person here that would hand us over to save their own sorry skin? Their families?” Robin stared at his tattered boots, and Jim wished he knew his real name. “When he dies I will continue to help you. It’s my duty, its what he would have wanted”

Him. The batman, the man had been gone since the first wave of assassinations – world leaders, influential men and woman, meta humans and the justice league.

“Is there no one else?” Jim asked gently

“No, even Todd left us - he said he would help!”

“Todd?”

Robin shook his head. “Just a guy. He went for supplies, but he never came back – dead, captured or run away. Now its just me and Red Robin.” He finished off the coffee and straightened his little shoulders .“It doesn’t matter. There is a delivery coming through new town tomorrow – I might need a distraction, but I am almost sure I have away to access the supplies without letting on I have done so. I will need a blockade to the west to achieve it.”

“What ever help you need Robin”

The boy nodded, stepped back into the shadows and disappeared into the night, much like his mentor would have done.

Jim hoped one day that he would the courage to ask what became of Batman, Nightwing and Batgirl. He wished he had no need to ask.

He wished he didn’t already suspect the answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Prison was boring. Even in an inmate run prison, like Old Gate Penitentiary had become, there was a monotonous routine day in, day out. It was occasionally punctuated with fights, murder and pubic humiliation, but still - same shit, different day.

Jason preferred to eat his meals leaning on the stairs leading from the cells to the chow hall. It was less crowded and afforded him a vantage point to check out the action. Food, as unpleasant as it was here, was more palatable away from the heavy stink of unwashed bodies and the bitter stench of fear that hovered round the central tables and the members of the Red Snake. Every morning he took his nasty slop and leaned over the railing to keep an eye on any changes to the gang structure that may have happened over night, or any openings or opportunities.

There was rarely anything significant, and until there was he was stuck here.

“Jase?”

Jason grunted a greeting to his companion, shoveling a bit of what passed for porridge into his mouth. Fahim Sanders was in his sixties, with a scraggly beard and bright, sharp eyes. He was the only person Jason trusted in this place – and then only because they needed each other. Fahim had been locked inside this prison for nearly 30 years and he knew everything about it, including a way out. Thing was, before the invasion he had been happy to stay here; he’d had a cat, a one man cell, books to read and three meals a day. Things were different now; you stayed, you died – sooner or later - but now he had lost his cell and his long-stay standing he needed some help to make his escape. Jason was more than happy to assist.

So every morning Fahim spoke to his sources, Jason watched the ’Snake for an opening, and they waited.

Waiting was really boring so Jason had drawn up a mental kill list from his observations, just to pass the time. So far he had 73 names, 32 interesting ways to off them and had successfully crossed out 12 inmates who didn’t deserve to continue breathing.

Fahim tapped the railing quietly, sending Jason a sideways glance. “There’s going to be a Commotion later” he said.

Jason sighed. This could be good or bad news, but either way it wouldn’t be boring. It might even yield something interesting, but it would also mean more inmates, less room, more danger.

“Heard they were making another transfer.” Fahim continued, fingers still tapping.

“Anything valuable?” Jason asked

“Bunch of used up ex-meds from what I hear.”

“Goddamn it,” Jason muttered. “The last lot were a mix of vegetative freaks and psychotic nutsos. I had to put two of them down after they tried to eat me in my sleep.”

Fahim grinned slyly at him, showing a few missing teeth. “Keeps things interesting.”

“For you maybe - you didn’t wake up to a zombie dude chewing on your ankle.” That had actually been kind of scary, and it would have been more fun if he’d had a shotgun to dispatch them with, rather than a razorblade and toothbrush combo.

“You just enjoy complaining Jase.”

Jason huffed. Being eaten by zombies was a bit more excitement that he was looking for, thank you very much. Not to mention what had happened to the rest of the ex-meds. Ghost people; virtually catatonic after torture or weird brain experiments – the lights were on and after what happened he really hoped nobody had been home. They couldn’t look out for themselves, couldn’t fight back and took up a lot of space. That whole incident conformed the fact that the majority of humanity should probably be obliterated off the face of the earth. Quite a few names had made there way onto Jason’s kill list after that particular episode. Ex-meds were bad news.

He shook off the memories. Get out first, and then find a way to raze this shit-hole to the ground.

Changing the subject Jason jabbed his spork towards the ugly mass of people below them. “Any news on Fucko down there?” he asked, pointing to where a large, well muscled, bald guy was eating far more than his share of breakfast.

Fahim made a noise of irritation. “Nothing new, he’s the boss - he’s tight with the New-Screws, he has all the contraband he wants, fucks who he wants, kills who he wants. There’s nothing to trade with a guy who has everything.” He flapped a gnarled hand. “He is a king and this crap-heap is his kingdom.”

Another day of waiting, this shit was taking too long; Jason had responsibilities, damn it. He ran long fingers through his hair.

“I may have to go with the original idea,” he said after a moment, his mind already running over possible scenarios. “I just need to get close enough to gank that sack of shit.”

Fahim shook his head. “You could tough it in for sure - I seen you fight boy, and I’m fairly sure you were holding back - but you would have to take down, and keep down, at least five strong, armed men before the guards zapped you.” He snorted a wheezy laugh through his mustache. “Even the Batman couldn’t do that.”

“The Flash could,” Jason muttered absently, mind still on the problem

“You the Flash?” Fahim asked.

“No.”

“I rest my case.”

There was a long, sullen pause.

“Poison?” Jason suggested eventually

“A possibility – if you can ensure it takes them all down. If we miss a couple there will be rivers of blood in here until they find the culprit. Its best to wait, boy.”

Jason looked angrily over the hall; the noise rose and fell in a vicious cadence as men pushed and fought at the tables. Some inmates were forced to sit at others feet like dogs, huddled on the dirty floor dressed in their boxers or less, begging for scraps.

“I’m getting pretty fucking tired of waiting,” he said, tearing his gaze away from the hubbub below them.

“You must. An opportunity will present itself eventually.” Fahim sounded certain, but the dozy bastard had been in this lock up for nearly three decades so he was probably pretty fucking used to it.

Jason shuddered at the thought. “I’m not known for my patience,” he said.

 

It was strange, but when you had nothing, stupid shit like matchsticks and buttons became important – especially as currency. Of course, there were much more valuable things to bargain with when the stakes where higher - cigarettes, food, drugs and people. Either way, card games were a way to pass the time.

Jason was getting frustrated – there was a single cigarette lying on the pile of tat and he wanted it, _badly_. Fahim had that gap toothed grin on his face and despite Jason’s excellent cheating he just couldn’t win. It was driving him mad.

He was saved from humiliation, or possibly from just smacking that smirk off the old goat’s face, by the warning bell. He and Fahim scrambled to their feet to watch the activity below. Jason preemptively grabbed the cigarette off the pile as he did so – he probably would have won that hand, so it was practically his anyway. Fahim raised a scraggly brow at him but otherwise let it go.

“Commotions starting,” Fahim said. Jason grunted and lit the cigarette with his blue plastic lighter. The first burst of smoke against the back of his throat was a exquisite kind of burn and he savored the feel of it as he watched the lower door swing open and a confused mass of men and boys dressed in boxers and tee-shirts started to filter in.

The inmates in the lower tier were lining up to inspect them, jeering and hooting. Some were calling out to familiar faces, others were clearly looking for new recruits or victims – hell, most just seemed happy to have someone new to yell at.

The smart fish stayed back and assessed the situation before acting. Every prison had different rules and codes but some things were universal; the weak would be exploited, there was safety in numbers and you were nothing until you proved otherwise. It took Jason seconds to work out the hierarchy system after his arrival - if you didn’t have an orange jump suit, you were just meat. The only way to get one was to fight an existing inmate. Then it was just a case of assessing who best to go for; someone strong, but not so strong the enforcers saw you as a threat. Jason was in the clear in less than fifteen minutes.

Below them the inmates parted to allow BS Benson and The Red Snake’s other enforcers to come forward – first pickings went to the top dogs. They weren’t just looking for the young and weak, they maintained order with fear and intimidation. If you didn’t submit they made you, and if you happened to be a soldier or a mafia boss or some body building steroid dude all the better – it sent more of a message if you broke the fingers and toes of a tough guy or sexually assaulted a prize fighter, than it did if you fucked some skinny fifteen year old in your bunk at night. It was this that made Jason cautious about letting his true fighting ability and intelligence be seen.

As if illustrating his point, a fight was breaking out in the dining hall.

“Here we go,” Fahim muttered, his voice bland and unemotional. They had seen the same scenario before, and each time it never got easier to sit back at watch. This wasn’t like real prison where most of the folks deserved to be there - this place had a fair number of kids caught out after curfew, or picked up trying to fight against the Anathema. Farmers and bankers and students all slung together with the dregs of humanity. Jason had to remind himself he couldn’t protect them – the only way to help was to get out of this place and find a way to fight back.

Beside him Fahim sucked in a breath whistling through his teeth and Jason refocused his attention on the action below. It appeared that Benson, the head enforcer, had made a grab for someone and was now on his knees clutching his nuts. Apparently they weren’t prepared to come quietly.

Jason snorted a laugh. “I’ve been waiting to see someone get a lucky hit for weeks!”

“Shame how much he’s going to suffer for it though.”

“True,” Jason shrugged a shoulder, taking a long drag on his cigarette, “but he was going to suffer anyway, being Benson’s first choice – at least this way he can keep a bit of respect.”

As they watched, two other enforcers approached, one not very subtly wielding a Slock. The fish started to jostle backwards, keeping in a clumsy formation, not unlike their namesakes.

Suddenly, the intended victim darted forward and, using Benson’s bowed head as a launch pad, kicked into the air, striking each enforcer a resounding crack with his feet. He touched down just behind Benson who staggered round to face his attacker with a bellow of rage.

“Son of a…” Fahim managed to get out before the man below shot up again, twisting in mid air to land another blow, this one to the enforcer’s temple. The guy went down like a sack of shit and his assailant landed gracefully on the table behind him.

Jason grinned. He never in a million years would have thought it, but Dick Grayson was a sight for sore eyes.

Fahim turned to him, but what ever he was going to say died on his lips as he caught sight of Jason’s razor sharp smile.

“What is it?” he asked.

Jason took a last long drag of his cigarette before crushing it out under his heel. He blew the smoke out slowly, savoring his last hit and his grin turned into a smirk.

“An opportunity presenting itself,” he said.


	3. Chapter 3

The New Screws at Old Gate had a novel way to get the Fish to pick a cell to sleep in; from the bell, you had no more than five minutes to get to your cell before they zapped you. Then the guards would throw your twitching and often vomiting self into a cage – some folks just got tossed in wherever there was space, others would have been bargained for in advance. Sometimes there was something that resembled a chaotic auction; people shouting out offers, trying to out bid each other. The unlucky prisoner would not be in any state to protest against whatever the bidders had in mind for them. You were only late to your cell once, but usually that was all it took.

Jason had about 5 hours to approach Dick and explain this to him, make him believe it, and get him safely inside Jason’s own cell – or at least away from the Red Snake. The Machete16 were pretty awful too. Their leader hated Jason a great deal, unreasonably so in Jason’s opinion. He was pretty sure he hadn’t actually done anything to the bastard; maybe he just didn’t like his face. Doubtful though.

 

“Boy,” Fahim poked him in the ribs. Jason really wished he wouldn’t do that – it took a lot of effort not to react.

“I’m not a boy.”

“You’re just a whippersnapper.”

Jason indicated the breadth of his shoulders. “Do I look little to you old man?” he asked, not hiding the growl in his voice.

Fahim just snorted at him. “You’re young - not as stupid as most your age, but young.” He shifted his feet slightly. “What you going to do about your ‘opportunity?’ He ain't going to last the night - might not last the day. Hard though it is, it might be best to cut your losses. Nothing but trouble there.”

Jason winced. The situation wasn’t ideal - he could still make it work though, despite the huge target Dick had painted across his own back. “He doesn’t understand the way things work here, but I can bring him to heel. I’d better, if we ever want to get out of here. We need a way in and he could be the perfect bargaining chip.”

Fahim just raised a brow in mild disapproval.

“You know me better than that,” Jason said. “If I plan things right we can all get out of this without any of us being too badly damaged – except for Red Snake, hopefully.” He smirked. “First I need to persuade the Golden Boy I’m on his side, then I need to make a show of it.”

“Risky revealing your hand like that.”

“Yeah, but when the performance is done they’re going to invite me to be an enforcer in exchange for my bitch – I prove my skill and give them what they want.” Jason grinned at him, aware he was showing to many teeth to be comfortable, “and then they let us in and we take them out.”

Fahim didn’t look convinced, but he nodded his head. “You take them out and we get cell two and from there, freedom.”

“That’s the plan,” Jason said.

 

The problem with plans involving other people was that the variables were never what you expected them to be. Nobody did what you wanted, and you were left with nothing to do but improvise. 

It started out OK - dinner in the chow hall was a chaotic affair, and Jason knew to wait his turn. In fact he was happy to get his food towards the end of the rush.

As he shuffled along in the line he kept half an eye on his surroundings whilst he scanned the area he had last seen Dick - he couldn’t spot him from his current position, but as things were quiet he figured he was alright for the moment.

The server of the day seemed to consist mostly of beard and paunch and he was smoking as he dished out some sort of brownish grey slop. It smelt like old, meaty things and Jason grimaced as it hit his plate with a splat. Most prison grub sucked, but this shit? Took nasty-assed food to a new level. Fahim assured him that you eventually got used to the taste, if not the suspiciously stringy texture, but he was yet to manage a meal without wincing.

Jason weaved his normal route through the hall, giving the center tables a wide berth. Dick was seated in a well defensible position against the wall at the base of the stairs. Jason’s lips twitched into a small smile, it was almost the exact same place he had chosen to sit on his first day.

Daddy’s training kicking in.

Unlike Jason on his first day however, Dick was still in his boxers, and the T-shirt he wore was stained with blood. A quick visual inspection and Jason concluded none of it appeared to be his. Despite his brother’s carefully neutral expression Jason could see past the outward calm, there was an aura of tension and watchfulness rolling off him in waves. An observation that was proved true when Dick’s dark blue gaze immediately came up to meet his before he even got within ten feet.

Jason ignored the blank stare and sunk gracefully to the floor. Dick barely twitched, although his grip on his spork shifted slightly, making it a more efficient weapon should he attempt to stab someone with it.

Just in case, Jason made sure he held his tray in a position he could repel a possible attack.

Family meetings were such fun.

They stared at each other some more. Dick’s hair was a little too long, but he looked healthy, if a little wan, and he just exuded that calm confidence that made him so bloody annoying.

The silenced stretched between them.

It made Jason’s skin itch, so finally he just grinned, perhaps showing a few more teeth than was strictly necessary but damn, this was irritating.

Dick’s expression didn’t change.

The staring match was pissing Jason off. “Hey Dick,” he said, aiming for casual but not quite managing it. The tone might have been a _tiny_ bit snarky.

Dick rolled his eyes and sneered at him. “Surely you can do better than that” he said, lip still curled in disdain. “The man whose fingers I broke earlier called me a ‘cock sucking pretty boy’.”

Jason had learnt to trust his instincts when dealing with people – even before Bruce, growing up on the streets had already equipped him with a healthy dose of pessimism and a survivors ability to read people. There was something very off about this meeting, something more than the usual guarded aggression between him and his adopted brother.

“Greetings, oh wonder boy?” he tried.

Dick huffed and furrowed his brow, pushing out his lower lip in a slight pout. “That’s a little less insulting,” he said.

“I thought I was very polite.”

“You called me a dick.”

… and that was the point where Jason realized what was wrong. Dick’s expression was full of suspicion – normal, anger – normal, and caution – normal, but there was not even a flicker of recognition.

Well Shit.

Ex-med. _Right._

“Do you have any idea who I am?” he asked.

“Should I?”

Jason rubbed his temples; this could be the answer to his prayers or blow up in his face. He needed more data. “Just a bit, yeah.” He said “I’m slightly insulted Dickie-bird - how could you forget a face like mine?” he waved his hand, almost dislodging his tray. “Our illustrious history?”

Dick just stared at him, his expression carefully blank again. “Dickie-bird?” he said at last. “Is that some kind of euphemism?”

Oh good god, the fun he could have with this situation.

Although his gut told his this was real, Jason needed to be sure this wasn’t some elaborate plot to… do something. He kept an eye out for any sort of signal his brother was undercover or even just faking it. He saw none.

“It’s your name.” Jason said after a moment of close scrutiny.

Dick did not look impressed. “My name is Dickie?” he asked, his voice warring between indignation and disbelief.

Jason couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. “Dick; short for Richard. Fuck knows why you decided to name yourself after your penis rather than go for something like Rick or Ritchie as a nickname.”

“My name is Richard?” Dick looked thoughtful, and he mouthed the name again, like he was trying on a colorful shirt to see if it suited him. Although that might be a poor analogy when dealing with Dick, as his taste in clothes was, frankly, appalling.

Dick’s gaze hardened. “How do I know you’re telling the truth,” he asked.

Jason scoffed. ”Who would make up a name like Dick?”

“A smart ass,” Dick replied, without missing a beat.

Jason nodded and held up a finger. “Point” he said, smirking, “but what would my objective be?”

“In here? Could be anything.” The scorn in Dicks voice, and the way his eyes flicked over Jason’s body, pretty solidly implied what he thought Jason’s motivations might be.

“Get over yourself dude, there are plenty of moderately attractive guys in this place - you may have a pretty face, buts its not like I would be staring into my punk’s eyes as I fucked him.”

“I’m not pretty,” Dick said indignantly. Way to totally miss the point.

He was just being difficult, so Jason went for his usual tactic and ignored him. “And you have that fine athletic body, but I happen to know its covered in scars.” He pointed at Dick’s chest, raising his eyebrows.

Dick almost rose to the bait and his eyes widened, but then they narrowed to dark blue slits. “Are you trying to be smart? You can see scaring on my arms and legs; it’s not that much of a stretch to think I might have them elsewhere. Your observation proves nothing, other than the fact you can see, and make occasional leaps of logic.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of a bitch?”

“Is that a hint?” He smirked.

Dick was the most annoying person on the planet, memories or not, but there was a large part of Jason that loved the verbal sparring – he just wished, that in this instance, that there wasn’t so much resting on it.

“Look,” he said, keeping his voice as level as possible, “I saw you fight earlier – nice going by the way - and here you are sitting covered in someone else’s blood. If I wanted to get myself a bitch, I would go for easier prey. I got nothing to prove to anybody.”

“So why don’t you stop flapping your mouth and tell me what you want?” Dick said.

“God, were you always this rude?”

“You’re the one that claims to know me, you tell me.”

“Oh I do know you,” Jason said, he forced himself to sit back, relax the tension in the hand holding his tray. “I know you as an honorable man, someone who will stick up for others.” He gestured with his free arm. “In here? You won’t survive without help. You have to be cold, a killer, to stay on top of things. And that’s not you.”

Dick didn’t look impressed. “If you saw me fight, you would know I can look after myself. I don’t need your help.” He paused and furrowed his brow. “You never introduced yourself.”

“Jason, Jason… Foxx.” He had kept his real name to himself so far, and with Dick in this state, he wasn’t going to trust him with it.

“Well Mr. Foxx, I’m fine on my own – you want to rescue someone? Go find some poor soul who needs it.”

Jason snorted. “Some advice Dickie bird. Your pretty face is going to cause you some trouble, but not as much as your quick fists and smart mouth – learn your place, learn the rules.” Jason rose smoothly to his feet. “You know how they control us in here?” he asked. Dick cocked his head and Jason sighed – the next week or so was going to suck, he could just tell. “They implanted a microchip of some kind into your body – sort of like they do for dogs to stop them getting lost – except these bastards have us linked up to a nasty little system. You misbehave and they shock you - it hurts like a motherfucker and can completely incapacitate you. Understand?”

“Yeah, don’t mess with the guards?”

“And you got rule number one - but when the bell goes, you have five minutes to be in your cell, any cell, or you will be too out of it to defend yourself. All the skills in the world won’t save you, got it?”

Dick nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate the advice – although I am still going to make my own way.”

“Fine, no pressure – but watch yourself, and get a jumpsuit. That might help get the target off your back.”

It wouldn’t though, not after his fight with BS Benson. Ninja skills or not there was only so much one man could do against a prison full of scumbags. Jason just had to make that work in his favor. Should be a piece of cake.

Right.


	4. Chapter 4

Dick didn’t come to Jason’s cell after the bell, but he did manage to get himself into one. Jason watched over the railing as the prisoners made their way to their cages or milled about in confusion, and he noted Dick was trying to urge the stragglers to hurry to safety. Apparently some things didn’t change – Dick’s bleeding heart had always been his biggest weakness, and it was what would fuck him over in here; desperate men would sell there friends and family to save their own skins, and nobody in Old Gate had any friends worth keeping.

Dick slid into a cell on the lower tier with barely thirty seconds left. He caught Jason’s eye and held his gaze for a further ten seconds before Jason had to break away so that he could get himself inside.

He pushed through the sweaty men playing dice near the front and headed towards his own bunk in back. It was a thirty man cell, but there were at least forty five people growling and stinking up the place. Fahim was reading an old law book, lying in the top bunk. When he saw Jason he put the book aside and leaned down

“Pretty boy not with you then?” he asked

Jason grunted. “The idiot is as stubborn as ever, even when he’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic. But he is safe inside, so that’s something”

“You think he will hold out to morning?”

“Oh yeah,” Jason’s lips tilted up in something like a smirk. “Tonight he won’t get much sleep.” As if to punctuate his statement, the first screams started to echo round the halls outside the cell, but Jason ignored them. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to be able to shut it out – criminals, perverts and those that preyed on children he had no sympathy for, would hurt and kill them with a clean conscience, but in here the ones screaming were almost always the ones that didn’t deserve it.

“But he’ll survive the night, and tomorrow, and the following night – after that? Sleep deprivation makes you sloppy, eventually you have to succumb to your body’s demands – and the Red Snake will be waiting.”

“And then?” Fahim asked, chewing on the end of his mustache.

“Then he is going to either realize he really needs a friend, or he is going to fall under the weight of his own stupidity,” Jason said.

Jason really wished he had a cigarette, but supplies were running low, and what was coming in was going straight to the ‘Snake. “If he doesn’t seek me out, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”

“Set him up, you mean?” Fahim asked. He was no fool and although that made Jason’s days a little less bring, it was still something to be wary of – the old man was fantastic at reading people and a born liar. 

“Yeah, to gain his trust I have to be seen to be benevolent to the smelly pathetic masses.” Fahim sniggered and Jason shot him a dirty look. “But if I set it up so he is in serious trouble and I swoop in and rescue him – that would be the finishing touch – he would be mine after that.”

Fahim nodded. “Tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, or the next day,” Jason said, though he didn’t sound half as certain as he would have liked.

 

The next fifteen hours were interesting. Dick had tried to protect the more vulnerable prisoners in his cell and in the morning had been expelled by the cell boss – not as high ranking as a gang leader, but if they didn’t want you, you were gone. This was why Jason hated working with certain types of people. Dick was competent, clever, fast and fierce – he knew the rules on the streets – but in here he was a fish out of water. The men he tried to help would turn on him in a second and Benson was watching him the whole time. The bastard could wait for an opportunity - there was nothing but time in here. Dick needed to get a clue quickly, but, not too quick. He was vulnerable, tired and desperate – just as the ‘Snake wanted him, and perfect for what Jason had planed.

That was the theory anyway.

Showering in Old Gate was a nerve-racking experience. The guards couldn’t get to you right away but there were cameras, so people misbehaving could be zapped if necessary. It also contained one of the few blind spots – all sorts of nasty shit went on in that 4 foot by 4 foot alcove, and for the most part it was a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ for the New Screws.

Jason trailed Benson, as he followed Dick to the shower room. Goldie was looking extremely uncomfortable stripping down, and Jason could relate - nudity just made you feel exposed, more susceptible to attack - but he was carrying it off well, head up, back straight, apparently ignoring the prisoners milling about. Benson and his cronies just watched, and Jason did too. He realized he had never seen Dick completely naked before and he didn’t bother to hide the fact he was giving him the once over.

Dick looked like he had lost some weight and although his skin was still golden he was paler than Jason had ever seen him. Even though they were essentially night animals, Dick was like a cat – he loved dozing in the sun. There were bruises littering his skin as well as a few newer, angry-looking scars laying alongside the older more fades ones that stood out starkly on his skin. The scars were generating a lot of interest; that was good, he was clearly someone to be cautious of and made it look like he had seen serious combat, at least.

Jason wondered what Dick made of them. It must be odd to be so covered in old wounds and not know where they came from.

Dick was well aware of his scrutiny, and was scowling fiercely at him as Jason finished attempting to compare the size of their penises [his was bigger – when flaccid at least] and let his gaze wonder back up Dick’s body to his face.

Jason winked at him, and his brother started to scrub furiously at his hair, shoulders stiff and radiating indignation. Jason was also aware his interest had been noticed by the other inmates - he was mostly unimportant in the grand scheme of prison life, but he was fairly well integrated with some of the lower ranking groups and the idea of him getting himself a punk was big news when every day was boring as hell.

It was only a matter of time ‘till some moron made a play for Dick, either as a challenge to Jason’s obvious but as yet unspoken claim, or because they were too dumb to register the danger rolling off Dick in waves. The next fool who tried was going to get strung up by their balls.

True to form, Mordden - a shit-stain of a man and number 4 of Jason’s kill list - decided his nuts weren’t worth keeping and skimmed his fingers over the swell of Dick’s ass. Almost without any warning his brother kicked out with tremendous force, almost taking the man’s head from his shoulders with the blow. Dick spun to fend off another teasing attack –they weren’t being serious, just seeing how far they could go, everyone got Checked, and if you didn’t pass muster you were in deep shit.

As Dick turned, spinning on his toes to deliver a bone cracking strike to his second attacker, Jason kicked the soap under his heel. Any other man would have gone down in a heap, but Dick just flailed for a moment and staggered into another inmate before regaining his feet.

It was enough though, and started an all out brawl; naked inmates punching and yelling whilst slipping on the wet floor.

Jason grabbed Dick from the fray and hauled him into the blind spot – not an easy feat, as his brother was struggling and slippery.

“Dick, stop! Stop fighting me!” Jason narrowly avoided a knee to the balls – he really had to start taking his own advice - and finally wrestled Dick to a standstill. They still had a little time, the guards would be monitoring and zapping the guys out in the open, so he spun them round, so his own back was against the wall – submissive, non threatening.

Dick stopped struggling and looked at him, just as the first yells came from the main room.

“We don’t have much time,” Jason said

“Best be quick then.”

At least he was willing to listen, last night must have been very unpleasant. Jason had thought it would have taken at least another 24 hours until he was ready to hear some sense.

“Dick, you need help.”

“And how much will this help cost, Mr Foxx?” Dick said in a low voice

“A lot less than any other offer in this hellhole, believe me.”

Dick snorted and ran a hand though his wet hair. “You seem to be doing OK alone” he said at last

“That’s because its not my first time in the joint, and I didn’t kick the second most important guy in the nuts in my first 5 minuets of residence.”

“Not cool?”

“Definitely not cool. Although, he deserved it and then some.” Jason tried to offer him a smile, but Dick wasn’t buying it - he was looking into Jason's eyes like he could see his intentions written there.

Jason suddenly realized that despite the bravado, Dick was afraid. He had seen Golden Boy scared for all kinds of reasons – for loved ones, for random strangers, even for criminals, he had seen him afraid of rejection, of loss – but never because he thought someone was going to hurt him, Jason had seen him pissed off about it, but never frightened. 

It felt wrong and now he was aware of it, Jason could sense the fear oozing off him. Dick wasn’t stupid, he knew he was not going to make it without help – but help would come at a price. It was the same decision many people in this same situation had to make – he had to choose the lesser of two evils – in this case; the Red Snake, Benson and Redford himself, and when they got board the rest of the gang, or Jason’s empty promises. To be honest Jason wouldn’t have believed him for a second if there positions were reversed.

“Dick,” he said, he touched his brothers arm gently, “I’m not just offering you something out of the goodness of my heart – I need your help. I want out of here and you are the one guy who can help me”

“Why? How? How can I possibly help?”

“I need your skill at fighting, I need your quick thinking and talent at observation.”

For the first time, Dick looked like he might believe him and there was something hopeful in his expression.

“Dickie, I have a plan. It could use some work, but as it stands we can’t be seen as friends.”

“But you said...”

“We will be working together, but we will have to play certain roles”

“And will this ‘role’ involve me being on my knees?” Dick asked, skepticism working its way back into his voice, he raised a snarky eyebrow and for a second it was just the old Dick Grayson standing in front of him, somewhat naked and dripping wet.

“Actually, yes,” Jason smirked, but it wasn’t Nightwing he was talking to, and he barely managed to deflect the punch that flew at his face. Dick looked surprised it hadn’t landed - if Jason wasn’t so well trained there was no doubt he would be cussing and bleeding on the floor

“Damnit Dick!” he hissed, fending off another blow, “you should have let me finish!”

Dick poked him in the chest. “If you have something to say, just say it outright! And stop messing me around!”

“If you agree to do this, we’ll be faking it.”

“Faking it? Faking what?” Dick looked like he was going to hit him again

“I need to fight you, overpower you and pretend – this is the operative word - _pretend_ that I own you”

“Why?”

“With our particular skill set and fighting talent, if we are united we will be seen as a threat. If it is just one guy and his bitch, then we can take them by surprise.”

“Why do we need to take them at all?”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Duh.”

“Very articulate golden boy.” Dick just looked perplexed – Golden Boy was probably a bit of a random nickname from where he was standing. “If you want out of here you have to trust me, at least a little – and that goes both ways. I knew you, but you’ve been missing for months.”

“Will you tell me about myself?” Dick asked, a clear plea in his voice.

“Sure, when it’s safe. Right now we only have a few minutes to get things straight.” Jason leaned forward, so they were almost nose-to-nose. “Find a new cell tonight - pick 6 or 7 if you can, and tomorrow I will corner you in the chow hall and tell you what we need to do. After that it will be easier to communicate without people getting wind of our partnership.”

The was shouting from the shower room as the guards started coming to remove any wounded or zapped prisoners

“In a second they’ll come for us. When they do, struggle and punch me, then run for it.” He barely had time to see Dick’s nod before the guards appeared round the corner. Dick’s fist flew at him and hit with such force it knocked him sprawling back against the tiles. They were going to have to have a long talk about pulling punches.

The New Screws didn’t give him time to pull himself to his feet before landing a few solid kicks to his gut – one of the bastards stepped on his head and twisted his heel, but Dick’s whispered ‘tomorrow’ as he dated away was worth the aggravation and the pain.

They were in business.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: vague references to non-con

The following morning, it was something of a relief to see Dick had survived another night unscathed. Jason didn’t doubt his skills for a moment, but it had been a while since he had slept – the combination of fear and the constant noise in the prison was taking its toll. His brother looked like shit.

He let Dick get his food and settle into his usual spot in the chow hall before heading over, keeping his pace steady and cautious.

“Morning sunshine,” he said as he approached. Dick had a darkening bruise near his temple. Someone had got a lucky hit; another sign of his exhaustion.

“Do I look like sunshine to you?”

“Would you rather I said ‘Good morning shitface?’”

Dick quirked a lip in something that could almost pass for amusement. “You wanted to tell me your plan? I could really use a plan right about now.” His voice was rough with fatigue and stress.

Jason shot a quick glance around the crowded hall. Some eyes were on them, but none was close enough to hear what they said. “You have to make it look good,” he said to Dick, who surprised him by giving a tiny nod before completely changing his posture to appear defensive. Even without his memories, he was a very quick study. This might actually work. 

“I’m going to challenge you, and we’re going to fight in the hall – we have to make it seem real. You don’t have to hold back your skill, but I would appreciate it if you pulled your punches somewhat.” He gestured at the large purple bruise over his own cheekbone, courtesy of Dick’s parting blow in the shower room.

“When you give me an opening I’ll take you down, give a good show of dominance and drag you up to my cell. We will have to improvise from there.”

Dick looked dubious. “Excuse me if I’m not thrilled by the prospect of ‘improvising’ with you.”

Jason huffed a laugh. “Shit, Dick - how is it you are still such a pain in the ass even with nothing in your brain but fluff?”

“I’m going to let that one go. If you stop calling me Dick.” 

Jason scoffed, and that wrong feeling rose in his chest again, Dick not wanting his stupid nickname just didn’t feel right. “What would you prefer? What the other inmates are calling you?”

“Which is?”

“So far either ‘pretty boy’ or ‘dead man walking’ – neither is really a name you want in a place like this.”

Dick gave him an aggrieved look. “Fine. So when do you want this plan to go down - today? Tomorrow?”

Jason stalked closer, and despite the situation, he enjoyed the way Dick’s eyes narrowed at him, the way his body twisted slightly, ready to attack. There was such an ebb and flow of power in this game - it was different to how it used to be, but it was still an exciting rush.

“Anytime you want,” he said, curling his lips into a smirk. 

Of course Dick, ever the fucking drama queen decided to make it into some big show – without warning he flicked Jason’s loosely held tray of food right into his face, splashing him with lukewarm potatoes and meat, before kneeing him in the nuts. He wasn’t using anything near his full strength, but even a light knee to the balls was a horrible experience, and Jason let himself fold down, clutching his crotch as he did so.

“I won’t submit to you!” Dick yelled, brandishing his tray. 

Why the hell did Bruce think it was a good idea to make this guy his partner? He would have had a great career as a daytime soap actor – Sunset Beach maybe. Jason grit his teeth as he pushed himself to his feet and wiped gravy from his face, apparently they were going to do this now. 

 

Apparently they were also going to do this the hard way. Jason narrowly missed being decapitated by his own tray and dodged a serious kick to his knee. Dick wasn’t holding back, and it was taking every ounce of Jason’s skill to keep himself from losing. It was ironic that usually Dick had the disadvantage of having to avoid crippling blows when he fought, but now it was Jason that was struggling to pull his punches – Dick would be no good to him seriously injured. 

They spun and twisted and rolled across the chow hall and Jason was vaguely aware of the other inmates hooting and catcalling. They had formed a loose circle of spectators around them and he really couldn’t afford to fuck this up. He launched himself at Dick taking him to the floor and attempted to pin him down, and even in his exhausted state it really wasn’t easy

“Fucking hell Dick, yield!” he hissed into his brother’s ear, narrowly avoiding having his face bitten.

“You yield!” Dick snarled back. “This plan could work either way and I don’t trust you for shit!”

Oh great - they were both so fucking dead. He really should have seen this coming, and if he wasn’t fighting quite so hard, he might have taken back his nasty thoughts on Dick’s acting abilities – apparently he was really quite good.

They twisted and struggled on the floor before Jason managed to get a good two-footed kick in, sending Dick sprawling. If he didn’t end this soon, things were going to go horribly wrong, and he could not afford to lose – for both of their sakes. This wouldn’t be happening if Dick was still in possession of all his faculties - even when they were enemies there was a general understanding about lines that wouldn’t be crossed; that their natures wouldn’t let them. 

Dick caught him with a high kick but Jason twisted, risking leaving himself wide open, and landed a solid blow to Dick’s stomach, which sent him stumbling back into the crowd. He was moving forward, looking for an opening, when fucking _Mordden_ emerged from the jostling pack of prisoners and landed his meaty fist right into the side of Dick’s head. 

Shit.

Dick dropped, stunned but not out. Jason jumped forward shoving against Mordden’s chest. “This is my fight!” he snarled. “Back the fuck down”

Mordden held up his hands. “Just helping out, Foxx. Thought we could share – or sell the proceeds. Wasn’t sure you could manage on your own”

Jason slammed him in the nuts. That kind of chat would get them in trouble – better to nip it in the bud, so to speak. Dick was struggling to his feet so Jason punched him in the belly. He still didn’t go down, the stubborn fool, and Jason grabbed him by the arm and swung him face first onto a table. Their spectators roared and cheered as Jason pushed his hips flush against Dick’s ass as he bend over him. 

“Last chance to yield before I knock you out,” he hissed. Dick was still struggling under him and a combination of the wiggling against his crotch and the power he felt restraining a pissed off Nightwing in such a compromising position was making him a little hot and bothered. More than a little – holding Dick down like this was fulfilling more than a few teenage fantasies.

He bent close to the back of Dicks thrashing head, just to give him one last chance to surrender before he had to smack some sense into him. 

And everything ground to a halt. The noises Dick was making, what he’d thought were snarls of rage, were in fact gasps of panic, low whimpers of fear. Dick Grayson didn’t pant in terror, Nightwing didn’t. Even in the worst of situations, he would shoot his mouth off and mock his attacker; he had been trained – _brought up_ \- in combat. He didn’t panic often, and when he did it was almost always for someone else’s safety. 

Jason felt cold running though him, and he could safely say he had never lost the feeling of arousal so fast – his fantasies had been about dominating Daddy’s Golden Boy, not terrifying him with the threat of sexual violence. 

He felt sick. 

More than that he felt anger – he could understand that this Dick was different to the old one, but the cold feeling in his gut was fear that it might be more than that.

Six months was a long time to be MIA. What the hell could have happened during that time? The dark parts of his mind spun all sorts of scenarios, lashed out with horrible images. Jason clenched his teeth so hard he felt like his jaw might explode. 

He had such rage, and he just wanted it to go away. Before he really understood what he was doing he had snaked an arm around Dick’s throat and squeezed until he lost consciousness. A bit counter-productive in the face of his sudden desire to protect his moron brother but better for both of them in the long run. 

He pushed back from the table, keeping one arm on Dick’s back to prevent his limp body from sliding to the floor. No one looked like they were going to challenge him. 

Good.

Despite the churning and uncertainty in his gut he was determined to carry on with the plan, although this new development was going to make phase two really fucking complicated.


	6. Interlude 1

Access to the Batcave was limited. The safest way in or out was a tunnel though the caves, too small for most. There was the older larger entrance, the one the Batmobile used to take when they had gas, but he would only risk that in emergencies – there were Anathema living in his father’s house, right above them.

Damian squeezed his back-pack through the last gap in the rock before emerging into the cave. It was dark – even with the back up generators they had to keep electricity usage to a minimum, just in case the Anathema were tracking unregistered power use. It was best to just skim from the mansion above, even though it burnt him to let the bastards stay there. 

The hacking, wheezing cough that haunted his nights echoed through the cave. Sometimes he wished Tim would just hurry up and die so he could sleep! But even as he thought it the fear came. It was just them - his father apparently dead, no word of his mother, he didn’t even want to think about what might have happened to Dick or to Batgirl. 

And after the fear came the shame. What would his mother think that he was so afraid to be the last one standing? That he missed her and his father, that he longed to hear Dick’s stupid laugh and he wished Tim would be miraculously well?

He was so tired. 

And so ashamed of it, the feeling crushed him. 

But he wouldn’t let it beat him, and Red-stupid-Robin was going to live though another week if he liked it or not!

Damian stalked forward on silent feet – just because this was home didn’t mean it was safe. There was no sign of life, other than the noise Tim’s chest made as he struggled to breathe.

Satisfied they were alone, Damian moved forward to the area that had become their bedroom – it had most of the crash mats from the gym as a huge mattress on top of that were scavenged blankets and one of Batman’s surviving capes.

Despite the fact their ‘bed’ could sleep at least ten people, he and Tim slept close – he had assured himself it was just for warmth, they needed to conserve body heat. 

“Hey brat,” Tim muttered as Damian drew close. He didn’t sound any worse than he had that morning, but that wasn’t saying much. 

Damian got out his supplies, “This is all I found” he said brusquely, preparing an injection that would hopefully ease his pain and make breathing less difficult - without any proper medical services there was not much else he could do. “Did you make any progress?” he asked as he flicked the syringe and took a tight hold of Tim’s arm.

“Yeah, actually. I think I managed to configure the main-frame – with a little more work we should be able to isolate radio signals from non-Anathema sources.” Tim said, his voice trailing off as the drugs hit his system. “I cant think with this stuff in me.” 

“Tough!” Damian said. “I can’t sleep with your wheezing and groaning. Rest now and work more tomorrow. Have you eaten?”

“Can’t Damian, don’t know if I can keep it down.” 

“You will eat!” Damian tried to make his voice strong instead of desperate. “You will!” He set about preparing what would have to pass for dinner – canned goods, eaten cold. Tim accepted a few beans from the can Damian opened he even chewed them. 

After their meager supper Damian wrapped them both up in the cape, Tim’s hacking breath eased as he fell under the influence of the drugs, he wished he could risk ear plugs, just to block it out for a little while. Every cough was like the sound of the end of the world.

He hated himself for all the doubt when he should have none – he missed his father and Grayson, he missed the butler and Batgirl, even Todd was better than this. 

It was pathetic, but being alone hurt more than any injury he had ever received and he cursed his father and his stupid family for making him so weak. 

The warmth of Red Robin’s body against his back was lulling him into sleep. Whatever tomorrow brought, he would be ready for it, ready to fight and ready to try to save people. 

It’s what his family would have wanted.


	7. Chapter 7

The journey to Jason’s cell was not a particularly graceful one. Dick was heavy and it was quite an effort to climb up the stairs with him slung over a shoulder. There was also a lot of catcalling and a few of the more exuberant inmates smacked Dick’s butt as Jason passed – something they would lose a hand for if his brother was awake.

Fahim went ahead of them and ushered the few stragglers out of the cell and Jason chased out the rest with a single fierce look. He eased Dick onto the floor and began yanking the jump suit off his prone form - wrestling an unconscious man out of what amounted to a giant orange babygrow was harder than it looked.

“Is that really necessary?” Fahim asked as Jason finally got Dick’s arms free and started tugging the jumpsuit over his hips.

“Yeah, why?”

“The kid was scared Jase. He is going to be even more so if he wakes up half dressed.”

“Firstly, he’s not a kid; he’s older than me.” Jason grunted as he maneuvered Dick’s body onto the lower bunk. “And secondly, I don’t know why he freaked but he’s just going to have to suck it up.”

Fahim shot him a look and Jason bristled “The panicking was way out of character, OK? But done is done and we need to follow through.” As he spoke he fitted a sheet over the side of the bunk as a makeshift privacy curtain. He hesitated before stripping off his own t-shirt and reluctantly stepping out of his jumpsuit – he hated how vulnerable he felt without it, but he had to make it this look genuine.

“Your compassion astounds me,” Fahim snarked at him. “I thought this boy was your friend?”

Jason paused as he clambered over Dick’s unconscious form. “I said I knew him, not that we were friends and he’s not a boy, he’s a grown man”

Fahim sucked in one of his whistling laughs. “You’re both boys to me!”

“Yeah, thanks for that. Now, go keep watch - as soon as he wakes I’m going to have my hands full.”

Fahim nodded and stepped out of the room with a last warning glare. What did the old fool think he was going to do? Jason scowled but was pulled from his thoughts as his brother stirred beneath him.

 _Show time._ He positioned himself carefully, hoping to be able to pin Dick’s arms and legs and prevent too much movement. It was not a moment too soon, as Dick’s eyes flickered open and he began to struggle. Jason narrowly avoided a black eye from an attempted head butt, but his longer reach allowed him to keep just out of harm’s way

“Dick!” he hissed roughly. His brother was making a low growling sound and twisting his limbs in a skillful attempt to escape. On most people it would have worked, but Jason had been trained the same way with the same moves and he countered each one.

Dick was wide eyed and panting beneath him and Jason was vaguely disgusted with himself at how hot he found that image, but at least he was secure in the knowledge pretty much anyone would find ‘angry, disheveled and helpless’ a good look for Dick.

“Dick, listen to me! I’m not going to hurt you, I just need you to listen!” For an instant he thought the moron had got the message as he stilled his thrashing, but apparently he had just been attempting to collect enough saliva to spit in Jason’s face. Part of Jason [most of him actually] was pissed off and revolted, but there was a bit that felt relief that it showed there was a bit remaining of Nightwing’s usual fire – although spiting and biting had been more Damian’s thing, but whatever.

He tried to wipe the slobber from his face with his shoulder whilst he shot Dick a poisonous glare. “For fucks sake! If I was going to do anything to you don’t you think I would have made a start whilst you were unconscious? Would make my life a hell of a lot easier!”

“Get off me!” Dick snarled up at him

“I will, just give me a goddamn minute to talk to you with out being punched or spat at!” He suddenly had an idea, probably a stupid one but he leaned down a little anyway, risking injury to his face. “I’m going to let you go. Just give me a second to get something and I’ll prove it to you.”

“If you’re about to screw with me…” Dick threatened, his eyes dark and fierce.

Instead of answering Jason let go of his wrist and leaned further down to reach under the bunk to detached the shank taped there. He was very careful that Dick didn’t see what he was doing until he pressed the makeshift weapon into his palm. Then, just for good measure, he brought Dick’s hand up until the sharp metal lay against his own skin.

Dick looked shocked for a moment, then doubtful, but some of the tension bled out of his body – Jason might be leading the discussion, but Dick was now in control.

“OK, I maybe got too enthusiastic and jumped the gun a bit with the whole fight plan. I should have spent more time talking to you, convincing you of my good intentions.” Jason paused trying to figure out the best way to say what was needed. “But either way, if we are going to get out of here, that shit can’t happen again. You can hang onto the sharp if it makes you feel better, but you have to put some trust in me”

“You wanted it.”

“What?” Jason was confused for a moment, but the sneer painted across Dicks face quickly clued him in.

“I felt you against me,” Dick said.

He really didn’t want to waste time talking about this, but he had little choice. “Yeah, OK - but it wasn’t just you, it was the fight.”

Dick looked mildly skeptical. “Fighting makes you hot?”

“Yeah. One day I’ll treat you to my theory about that, about how I – we – grew up fighting, before we I even though about sex and lust... OK that’s a lie, I thought about it plenty.” He broke off. Dick was giving him this confused scrunchy-faced look. It was kind of cute and he sort of hated himself for the thought. “The high of winning a fight, of my body becoming a literal extension of my mind – what I wanted it did, and the visceral power of it - that was more of a rush than sex and I was doing this all the way through puberty. My theory? A few wires got a little crossed.” He smirked down at his brother. “Can you honestly say you don’t get a bit of that when you fight? When you win?”

Dick didn’t answer - he just gave Jason a heavy lidded look and then he very deliberately traced the sharp point of the shank he was holding down Jason’s abdomen.

It was a bit late, but it occurred to Jason that he had put an awful lot of faith into Dick’s good nature. How fucking ironic would it be if he died now because he trusted his memory of a man that was currently MIA inside his own head?

Also the indignity of being killed by a razor blade strapped to a toothbrush would just be the icing on the sad, shitty cake of his life.

Despite himself, his breath hitched as the cool metal ran over his skin. The expression on Dick’s face was calculating as he skimmed it down to the top of Jason’s boxers, making the skin of his tummy jump, then slowly pulled it back up Jason’s chest. As it passed, the blade left a thin scratch but it never broke skin - something he was glad for as it dragged over his nipple and finally came to rest over the pulse beating in his neck.

He got this – it was Dick’s attempt to re-balance the power, to show a bit of dominance himself. He needed this, so Jason shut his eyes and prayed Dick didn’t just cut his throat. After a long moment of listening to each other breath Jason felt the metal leave his skin. There was still a slight hitch to his breathing and his blood was pumping a bit to fast.

Oh well - another day, another kink apparently.

Dick huffed a laugh; it was a tired wry sort of sound, but there was an edge of humor in it too. “So what’s the next step in this mysterious plan of yours? And do I ever get some sleep?”

Jason smirked at him. “Clearly no one can resist my charms.”

Dick’s answering smile was an old familiar expression – like a shade of the man he had been, it threw him for a moment and he blinked down at his brother.

“Foxx?” Dick asked, clearly sensing the change in mood.

Jason shook away the ghosts of the past and maneuvered himself into a more upright position. “We cant afford to have a repeat of earlier – if we screw up we are both, quite literally fucked. Got it?”

“Yeah, be a good boy, etc.”

“I mean it Dick!” Jason gave him a serious look. “It’s not going to be much fun for you – tell me now if you think you can’t handle it.”

Dick shifted until his back was against the wall. It was one hell of a cramped bunk with two grown men in it. “Will it be fun for you?” he asked.

“Yeah, probably,” Jason leered. “I like being the boss.”

“No shit,” Dick sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Until we make our next move you are my punk, my bitch. If you sass me I’m going to hit you. At night I am going to pretend to fuck you. I am going to mark you up, strip you down and make you sit on the floor. Can you do that?”

“If I must – but don’t get used to it.”

Jason grinned, showing teeth and made a flipping motion with his hand. “Roll over on your belly.”

Dick hesitated, eyes narrow. “If you think I am doing any of this humiliating crap without knowing the actual plan you are more of a fool than you look, Foxx.”

“I get its not ideal, but we don’t have much time before people start coming back in and we need to get this shit done – it has to look like I own you. I’ll answer any questions later, after lights out.

Reluctantly Dick lay face down on the bed, allowing Jason to straddle his hips – his body was so tense it looked like he might shatter at any moment.

“This is going to hurt.”

“Just get on with it!” Dick snarled into the pillows

Jason dug his fingers into the flesh of his brothers hips, twisting and pushing. Dick grunted at the first serious squeeze, but then lay silent as Jason brought up angry red marks against his skin.

After taking a moment to admire his handiwork, he leant forward. “Don’t panic,” he muttered as he lowed himself onto Dick’s back and bit him hard on his shoulder. Dick yelped and squirmed but Jason ignored him as he sucked a vicious mark. He could taste sweat and fear, and the warm flavor of skin. He had never envisioned that his life would include a time when he was sucking a hicky on to the back of Nightwing’s neck. It wasn’t the worst thing ever - it was quite pleasing actually and he drew back onto his knees before he embarrassed himself.

Dick rolled over and stared up at him with huge blue eyes, a warm flush on his cheeks, and a spectacularly grumpy expression. Jason couldn’t help but grin. He grabbed the soft flesh of Dick’s jaw, leaving the imprint of his fingers. Dick’s nostrils flared in irritation and discomfort but he didn’t complain.

“I’m going to hit your mouth.”

Dick looked confused until Jason smacked him across the face with the back of his hand. This time Dick yelped, looking furious, but Jason just hit him again and then sat back and looked over his work with a critical eye. Dick’s mouth was red and swollen, and the bruises on his skin were darkening nicely. He nodded to himself - as uncomfortable as what they were doing made him, he was damn good at it.

He was so caught up in admiring the edge of a bite he could see peeking around the curve of Dick’s neck that he was taken by surprise when his brother lunged for him. He ended up bent backwards over his own legs – not a comfortable position unless your name was Dick Grayson.

There was a firm hand around his throat, tight enough to be very unpleasant, but it was a threat rather than an attack and he let it be whilst he fought down his racing heart – stupid to let his guard down.

“I’m sure I only need to say this once. This right here?” Dick squeezed a little forcing Jason to swallow uncomfortably “Me being your bitch? It’s an act – don’t forget that”

He withdrew his hand and Jason sucked in a ragged breath – he was willing to let this one go, if Dick needed a bit of macho posturing to feel better about things he could live with that.

“Overstep the line and I will stuff your own legs up your ass,” Dick said after a moment

“My legs? Isn’t it normally a head that gets stuffed up someone’s ass?

“Shut up, Foxx”.

“Jason, just call me Jason. Or master, which ever you prefer.”

That got a small smile, but then Dick looked speculative. “What’s my full name?” he asked.“I hate not having one”

“Don’t spread it around – names can get you killed.” Jason said warningly, then shrugged. “Its Richard John Grayson.”

“Richard Grayson. Thank you Jason, it means a lot.”

“Whatever, get some sleep – you look like complete crap and now you’re mine. I want you to look your best,” Jason grinned and caught the pillow Dick threw at him.

He felt a rush of something that felt suspiciously like hope. That was bad - the world seemed to enjoy fucking with him, and right now things were looking a little too easy. When shit was going well was always the time something nasty bit you on the ass.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: … thoughts about fake non-con? [the warnings are getting a bit odd! But let me know if I should add any more]

Jason woke Dick up in time for dinner. If possible his brother looked even worse than he had earlier, a combination of the exhaustion drawing his features, the bruises and cuts on his face, and the stubble covering his jaw, made him look like a beat up hobo who’d just spent the night in a Gotham trash can.

It wasn’t a good look.

Dick seemed positively offended when Jason wagged the razor in his face, and Jason grinned at him. “Scruffy is not the image I want for my Punk, Dickie,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Give it here then,” Dick said sullenly, holding out a hand.

“I don’t think a dry shave over those scrapes is going to do your face any good - use the basin.”

Dick looked pained; he had probably been hoping to avoid leaving the relative safety of the bunk - the privacy sheet was keeping away prying eyes and putting of the inevitable, and Jason could understand that. It was going to be an uncomfortable and humiliating day for Dick.

Not for Jason though, so he smiled wider and made beckoning motions with the plastic razor.

A few folks cast sniggering looks over at Dick as he shaved and washed his face. Jason didn’t blame them – the bruises, bites and scratches on his body were quite a work of art and told a very obvious story, even if it was a lie.

The trip to the chow hall was worse. Dick was once again clad in just his boxers, and despite his obvious discomfort he was playing his part well; he kept his eyes down and hunched his shoulders slightly. It wouldn’t be a big deal, despite how public their fight had been, except for the fact Dick had gone and made himself into a minor celebrity after the fight with Benson on his first day – it was the most interesting thing to happen this month in this boring shit heap.

And Jason owned him. That made Jason interesting too – the stares he was getting made him reconsider his earlier thoughts on it only being an uncomfortable day for Dick. He felt like there was a target on his back and the space between his shoulder blades itched.

As they collected their food and headed for Jason’s usual spot on the stairs, Dick grunted at him and cut his eyes sidewise. Turning slightly Jason saw Mordden watching them with a look of undisguised hatred and Jason couldn’t help but feel that most of it was focused on him – this wasn’t about Dick, this was about bruised macho pride.

Crap.

And speaking of bruised macho pride, Dick was doing a piss poor job of concealing his own- he was growling under his breath, his posture sliding towards defiance. Jason kicked him non- too gently in the knee in an effort to make him sit on the floor instead of up on the steps with him. Dick kept his head down as he sat but Jason caught sight of his eyes, filled with a maelstrom of frustration and anger. He was going to be a bundle of laughs when Jason explained the fake sex they were going to have to indulge in later. Not for the first time he wished Dick was still the annoying sanctimonious smart mouthed idiot he was before all this shit went down.

“So, Dick,” Jason asked, keeping his voice low and casual. “What’s the first thing you remember? What do you remember?”

Dick paused with his spork halfway to his mouth and he looked momentarily surprised at Jason’s sudden interest. “I don’t remember anything about myself. It’s strange, everything even sense memory, has been wiped – I know what chocolate looks like, I know how its made but I don’t remember what it tastes like or if I like it.” He looked angrily at the meaty mush on his plate. “Do I like it?” he asked after a moment casting a look at Jason through his overlong bangs.

It made him look vulnerable – perfect for his role, but Jason hated it, hated it. “How the fuck should I know?” he snarled, his anger getting the better of him for a moment.

“You’re such an ass, it was just a question.” Dick said, his frustration lowering his voice to a growl. “At this point you claim to know more about me than I do – any pointers would be awesome.”

“You like the color blue.”

“I know that! Something that I couldn’t have worked out on my own!”

Jason shot him an irritated look, but pissy was much easier to deal with than miserable or anxious. “Why don’t you tell me what you want to know and we can work backwards from there,” he said.

“Do I have a family?” Dick asked without missing a beat. Of course he would go straight for the awkward questions

“Your folks passed.”

Dick nodded to himself, like he wasn’t all that surprised. “Girlfriend? Boyfriend?” he asked.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“You aren’t being very forthcoming,” Dick said.

Jason rolled his eyes. “What did you want, a life history? A list of the great loves of your life?”

Dick’s expression said yes, he would like that very much, but instead he asked, “how did we meet?”

“Work.” Jason was enjoying the irritation that flicked across his brother’s face every time he failed to elaborate on his answers, and he fought down a smirk as Dicks eyes flashed angrily.

“And what sort of work did we do?” he asked, motioning vaguely at the scars crisscrossing his bare chest. “It was obviously a dangerous job, one that came with an interesting skill set.”

Jason failed to hold back his sneer. “Thats need to know – what’s your best guess?”

“A spy,” Dick said with an air of certainty, “or a ninja.”

“A spy or a ninja? Seriously? Can you put ninja on your résumé?”

“A black ops super soldier?”

Jason rolled his eyes and tried not to let his sneer turn into a smile. Good to know Dick was still an idiot. “Nah, you were a stuntman for a low budget film company – softcore porn and subpar B-movies. You weren’t very good at it. obviously.” He gestured at the scars.

“Oh yeah?” Dick was trying to hide his own grin now, “were you one too? You can fight and look like you’ve been in the wars a bit.” He rubbed his chin. “Were we a double act?”

Jason chuckled.“Not hardly, rival companies – I got all the good jobs, all the woman and the money.”

“You’re not going to tell me are you?”

“Nope, not till we’re out of here.”

“Ass.”

Jason snorted. “Moron” he said.

The sudden feeling of camaraderie was going to make this next bit easier at least he hoped so- but it would still be hard - at least once it was over things would be moving swiftly and smoothly - hopefully. 

 

“I’m not happy about this,” Dick said, shifting slightly in the bunk.

“Me neither, but its got to be done.” Jason was propped over Dick’s prone body on his hands and knees. The privacy sheet only gave them so much protection but he was reluctant to take the next step. He was feeling profoundly uncomfortable - simulating sex was one thing, might even be fun – but this was an assault and the thought of it made bile rise in his throat. Dick didn’t look much better; his face was pale and his jaw was rigid with tension.

“We just have to make it look convincing if someone moves the sheet – otherwise I won’t touch you.” Jason said.

Dick’s lips tilted into a half smile. “I know,” he said simply.

Jason was momentarily taken aback, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. Dick had always been good at reading people and his discomfort was probably written all over his face.

He and Dick stared at each other, both unsure of the best way to proceed. Jason hated showing his uncertainty, and he was about to make a move when Dick took the initiative and violently rocked himself forward, undulating his body with enough force to rock the bed. It would have worked perfectly if there had been a little warning – as it was Jason jumped in surprise [embarrassing] and overbalanced, one arm sliding away from him, his head crashed into Dick’s face, causing him to exclaim loudly in surprise. Jason cursed as dizzy pain rocketed through his skull, and from beyond the sheet there was coarse laughter and a few mocking jeers.

Dick made a weird strangled noise and Jason pulled himself back until there were almost nose to nose. He had a moment of concern as he caught sight of Dick’s red face and wild eyes until he realized his idiot brother was desperately trying to hold back his laughter. Jason clapped a hand over his mouth but a strained farting noise still managed to break free – which just made Dick’s eyes screw up as he shook with very unmanly giggles. Of course Jason’s own brain betrayed him and he could feel his own laughter bubbling up inside. This was the most fucked up awkward thing ever, but somehow he ended up with his face buried in the crook of Dick’s neck as their combined laughter shook the bed.

This stupid shit could only happen to him, seriously.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Threats of non-con? some insinuation of sexual violence, and Violence.

In Jason’s defense, it had been several days since he had slept well. Sharing a bed was a new thing for him and when the bed in question was a small prison bunk it would be hard for anyone, but sharing it with Dick Grayson was an exercise in torture.

How anyone could find the man attractive after inhabiting a small space with him for more than 12 hours was in Jason’s opinion, one of the great mysteries of the universe. He moved constantly, even in sleep; muttering and twitching, shifting into impossible positions. The first night had not been so bad, Dick’s exhaustion causing him to fall into a deep slumber, but since then it had been a battle – he had even been woken [after only a few precious hours] by one of Dick’s bare feet poking him in the head. How he had managed to contort himself until he was facing the wrong way was beyond Jason’s understanding. After that he had decided as soon as they moved cell and gained a bit of power he was commandeering a second bunk – although he had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t make a difference.

Jason wasn’t particularly keen on being touched, and being woken from sleep to find himself wrapped up in a warm, squirming body was all kinds of not fun – he didn’t even feel bad about the spilt lip and black eye he had accidentally given Dick over the past few days.

It got worse though; if Dick wasn’t smacking his lips and making weird sleep noises or clinging to him like a limpet he was drooling. Like a dog. He left wet patched on Jason’s chest or neck as he slept and it was seriously gross. Jason wasn’t sure if he had more or less respect for Dick’s exes having been exposed to this less than perfect side to his brother.

Either way, it had been a rough week of adjustment, he had shared the bare bones of his plan – take over Red Snake, take their cell, escape – but had withheld the details much to Dick’s displeasure, so despite their close proximity they weren’t really talking to each other. In other words, Dick was sulking and Jason was enjoying the rare moments of quiet so he could take micro naps and try to catch up on his sleep.

 

So Jason really wasn’t at his best when Mordden finally made his move – although even if he had been, he might not have been able to prevent what happened.

Mordden was a horrible excuse for a human being, but he wasn’t stupid – he knew he was no match for Jason or Dick, let alone both of them together, so he was going to need some help. Jason was both expecting and dreading this. If he chose the wrong partner then the whole plan could be thrown off – if he managed to make a deal with Red Snake it would be a damn sight worse. There was no way they could win.

So it came as something off a relief that when the attack came – in the showers, _of course_ it was in the fucking showers. Although being attacked by a pack of large hairy men whilst naked and wet was very low down of Jason’s list of fun ways to start the day, he was very relieved it was Machete16 that Mordden seemed to have struck a deal with. It might even work in his favor.

He suspected it hadn’t taken much to convince them to join forces as the leader. Ged Thorpe had it in for Jason in a big way, although he still didn’t have a clue why. He had seriously considered just asking but had been quite enjoying the suspense – prison was just that boring, and he had to take his jollies wherever he could find them.

Unfortunately, the Machete weren’t stupid either and they had managed to get several men between him and Dick before they began their attack. Dick reacted quickly, falling into a defensive stance but looking to Jason for direction. Dick was still wearing his boxers but it clearly just wasn’t Jason’s day as he had already stripped down to his skin. Fighting naked was awkward at the best of times and he really wished he could just put his shorts back on, maybe go back to bed, have a cup of tea.

If only.

He knew this fight was going to be messy – but then Mordden had to go and make it worse.

“Well Foxx, I would have given you a chance to share, but seeing how beat up your boy is looking now you turned him out, I’m starting to think he’s not worth it.” Mordden flicked a big hand in Dick’s direction. “Maybe you want to watch as these guys fuck him? Or maybe he gets a stay of execution and we just fuck you?”

Jason was neither cowed nor particularly impressed. Even with the numbers on Mordden’s side, the odds were still very much in his favor; he and Dick could take down these thugs with only minimal risk to themselves.

“What do you say, boy?” Mordden asked Dick directly. “Fancy a bit of revenge? You fight good - if you help me take him down I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Jason was glad he and Dick had come to an understanding otherwise this could have been really nasty. Well, he was 90% sure he and Dick had come to an understanding and the other 10% was really, really hoping.

Mordden and Dick were still staring at each other. “I’ll even let you play, let you take a knife to him if you want.”

Dick licked his lips and his stance shifted slightly. Mordden smiled with victorious malice, but Jason could read Dick’s body language far better than some meathead; the shift of his hips, the slight tensing of his calves and the rigidity of his jaw line. Stress reactions - Dick was still on his side, and getting ready to beat the ever-loving hell out of Mordden’s hide.

Mordden hadn’t caught on yet though, he was still spinning a gruesome fantasy in his head. Jason’s advice in these situations was always ‘more acting, less waxing poetic about shit’, but at least it gave him a moment to roll his eyes at the ridiculous theatrics of assholes who thought they were baddass.

“I think he would look pretty sweet, bleeding, being held down and choking on my cock,” Mordden said.

And _bam ___\- when the attack came it was not at all what he expected. Dick went from tense stillness to a cyclone of rage in an instant, and he was a furious, wild force.

 

It was astonishing how a single sound could completely shift your world on its axis, shock you to a standstill; the sound of bones shattering under the Joker’s crowbar was a memorable one, the first time Jason heard the Batmobile roar to life was another, but it wasn’t the same as this.

The noise Mordden’s throat made as it was crushed under Dick’s stiff fingers, a wet crunch, turned everything sideways. It wasn’t a sound he was ever going to forget.

Nor were the gurgling gasps of Mordden’s last breaths.

It was strange how wrong it was for Dick to use lethal force – it should have felt like a victory, but instead he was rooted to the ground in shock, allowing a thug to swing a meaty fist at his head and almost knocking him off his feet. That snapped him out of his brief paralysis and he kicked the guy in the face with the weight of all his confusion behind the blow. The guy he was fighting dropped like a stone, but he was still breathing.

For some reason Jason couldn’t stoop looking at Mordden’s body, and he finally realized what was bothering him so much. Apart from Dick ‘good boy’ Grayson killing a dude with a single punch and not even stopping to angst about it – which was all kinds of wrong by itself – what was niggling the edge of his mind was the realization it could have been him. He had pushed Dick in the same way, frightened him, and he would never had seen it coming - hell, he had put a razor in his hand and let him trail it all over his body.

Fucking terrifying now he thought back on it.

The rest of the fight was brief and violent. Dick was a blur of motion in his peripheral vision and Jason had no trouble seeing off his attackers. Ged Thorpe was way back out of range, letting his cronies do the dirty work – and letting them get their asses handed to them.

He looked up at the sound of his name. Dick was standing in front of him, wide-eyed and practically vibrating with adrenalin, his bare feet stained with blood from the tiled floor.

“Jason,” Dick said, his voice a little strained as he turned his body slightly to look at Mordden’s corpse. “Is he… OK?” he asked stupidly.

“Does he look OK?” Jason couldn’t help saying, gesturing towards the bloody mess that used to be Mordden’s throat.

“I did that. I did it.” Dick sounded lost and Jason felt a guilty rush of relief – not so different from the Dick he used to know, just lacking his control.

“Yeah, but he was an ass and was gonna do the same to you if he had a chance.” Not exactly comforting, but true nonetheless.

“It was so easy. Who am I that it was so easy to just kill a man?” Dick sucked in a breath. He was visibly shaking and Jason really wanted him to stop and sort of wanted to punch him until the old Dick came back. “I didn’t even think about it, my body knew exactly what to do”

People were watching from the sidelines. Fights and murder were fairly common but the fact Dick had chosen to defend him, and that they had fought together, hadn’t gone unnoticed. The whole thing probably looked a little off – all his planning and hard work to get them to look the part, and then this. Of course Dick chose that moment to blow their cover even more by lunging forward and resting his head against Jason’s shoulder in a weird passive aggressive half hug. Jason rather tentatively put an arm around him - twitching, naked, hyped up, murderous Nightwing was proving to be a little unpredictable. Maybe he could spin a convincing story about Stockholm Syndrome?

Probably not.

He was desperately trying to come up with a plausible explanation, something convincing that wouldn’t blow up in their faces, so when a prisoner cried out and dropped to his knees it jolted him in surprise. Another prisoner went down, and another, then people started to scramble to get out of the shower room, to get away from the dead body and the scene of the fight, but they shouldn’t have bothered: the prisoners going down were all new – all Ex-Med. Dick pulled back from his uncertain twitchy embrace and met his eyes, obviously having come to the same conclusion. Then he jerked and let out a pained cry as he dropped to the floor.

“Fuck!” Jason snarled, ignoring the yelling and the panicking from the other inmates, as he grabbed Dicks arm and tried desperately to haul him to the alcove with the blind spot. His brother was a dead weight though, and his bare skin was wet, and slippery with blood from the fight.

The guards came in next. Their uniforms were a stark gray, and two wore the black and white stripes across their shoulders – a sign of high rank. The more sensible prisoners scattered as the fallen inmates were collected and taken away, Jason had a horrifying moment when he didn’t know what to do – what he _could_ do - but when an officer waved a zap stick in warning he knew; he couldn’t do anything, not a damn thing.

As they loaded Dick on to a stretcher and took him away with the rest even his anger couldn’t spur him into motion. All he could feel was a crushing dread.


	10. Chapter 10

Jason didn’t deal well with anxiety. Not knowing what was happening to the ex-meds, to his brother, was driving him mad, but it was the uncertainty that was really getting to him. Was Dick even coming back? There were rumors about the things that went on in the medical facilities, dark whispers of experiments and torture. It was also suspected that the rest of the thousands of prisoners inhabiting jails like Old Gate were just stock, waiting to be shipped on to the more shadowy penitentiaries.

Whispers, rumors – Jason believed them all. There was no other reason a bunch of prisoners and dissidents were being kept alive, when it would be cheaper and more efficient to just kill them. The removal of the ex-meds from the main prison had started up a low buzz of panic – what if they were going to start experimenting here? What if the long-feared transfers were about to start?

Irrationally, most of the inmates seemed to be blaming the ex-meds for bring disaster down on them and there were some talk of a mass execution. Jason didn’t put much stock in the chatter though - no one would do anything, they were too afraid of how the guards might react.

All he could do was wait and so he and Fahim sat huddled on the stairs, all of Jason’s plans in tatters, again.

Fahim scratched at his beard in agitation. “We’re back to square one if Pretty Boy doesn’t come back, except worse now the bad ones are here.” He said, casting Jason short glances from the corner of his eye.

Jason sighed. Despite his own worry about the possibility their prison was about to change its status to ‘a very bad place’ he was getting tired of saying the same shit over and over. “Firstly, we don’t know that the medics are moving their operations here for sure,” he said, “and secondly, we might not have a chance to back out of this plan – Machete16 are ripe for the poking.”

“Not sure about that turn of phrase Jase,” Fahim said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“Not the point - a little nudge and Thorpe will act. Unfortunately, I suspect he’s going to act anyway, nudge or not.”

Fahim nodded, a small grin visible under his ratty mustache. “True that. He was mighty pissed off with you for not letting Mordden kill you. Pissed off with Pretty Boy too – people are right confused about what you boys have going on.”

“I bet, it’s not exactly your standard prison relationship. But let ‘em wonder. If we keep them guessing it might take their minds off killing us - just until we can sort out Red Snake.”

“Yeah, if your boy comes back,” Fahim sighed.

Jason rolled his eyes towards the ceiling – this was the most frustrating conversation ever, and it was doing nothing too ease his jangling nerves. What he probably needed was a good, serious fight.

He wondered if he should go give Thorpe and the Machete16 that nudge.

 

 

Tony Hook had been arrested for armed robbery more than six years ago and he was suspected of the rape of several members of a witness’ family. That put him at number 7 on Jason’s kill list – some of those he’d attacked had been little more than children. Now he was second enforcer for the Machete. Luckily for Jason that meant he was exactly right for the little push he was planning to give the gang.

Not so lucky for Mr. Hook, who needed to die extra-nasty to make sure he attracted the right sort of attention.

Jason wiped the blood off his shank with Hook’s jump suit – the guy was still breathing, but he wouldn’t last the hour. Jason didn’t feel pleasure at killing or inflicting pain but he did feel satisfaction when he knew what he was doing was right – and when the punishment properly fitted the crime.

During the scuffle Hook had dropped a few teeth – most of them actually, and Jason scooped them up from the floor. He left the bastard to die in the cell and walked down to where the gang were eating lunch; this bit would be tricky – he had to make them threaten him – but not kill him or make him kill them. That would be the hard bit.

Thorpe looked disgruntled when Jason approached him, and he looked even more so when Jason dropped the bloody teeth on the table in front of them.

“Don’t send your goons after me again” he said, voice just loud enough to travel across the table.

Before any of the gang could react he spun on his heel and stormed back towards the stairs. As long as someone didn’t try to stab him in the back before he got there it should be enough to antagonize them – that and the corpse in Thorpe’s bunk.

“No turning back now Jase,” Fahim said quietly, as Jason sat back beside him on the stairs. The Machete’s tables were buzzing with angry muttering and fierce looks. Jason had shamed him and retribution was bound to follow. It was almost too easy.

“Next stop - Red Snake,” he said after a long moment.

“Or a messy death,” Fahim countered, a touch of wry humor in his voice.

Jason snorted. “Keep laughing old man – if I go, I’m taking you with me.”

 

 

It was very late - hours past lights out - when the cell doors slid open. Jason was up and out of his bunk before he fully understood what he was doing. Dick staggered into the cell, his face white and his body shaking. Jason grabbed him and steered him back towards the bunk, bundling him behind the sheet.

“What the hell happened, Dick?” he whispered harshly. Dick didn’t answer, he just pressed his face tight against Jason’s neck, sucking in deep, ragged breaths as his body shook. For the second time in 24 hours Jason didn’t have a clue what to do – comforting traumatized men was a new one for him.

So he did the only thing he could think of, he drew Dick down onto the bed, against his chest and petted his thick dark hair.

He felt like a bit of a tit, but according to all the shitty TV he had watched it seemed to be the correct thing to do. Dick apeared to agree with him, as he shuddered his body seemed to be trying become one with Jason’s.

After an ridiculously long time of Jason feeling awkward, Dick moaned against him and half raised his head. “They know.” he said, his breath hot on Jason’s skin. “They know what I did”

Jason stroked his hair like it belonged to a potentially rabid kitten. “Lots of people get killed Dick, the guards don’t give a shit.”

Dick whined, “They know what I did, they’re going to take me back.”

He sounded terrified, and Jason was torn between rage at the Anathema and whatever they were doing to the innocent people they had subjugated, and Dick for making him feel… responsible. Dick Grayson had always been something to aspire to, something he could never achieve, someone he could never be and eventually, something to resent. The current situation was screwing with his mind.

“Fucks sake Dickie, you have a lot more to worry about than Mordden getting what he deserved,” Jason started, but Dick interrupted him, grabbing at his face.

“No, its not that! It’s them, the medics -they know what I did and they’re going to find me!” Dick’s voice was how Jason would imagine a man with a guilty conscience at the gates of hell might sound; torn, desperate and afraid. “They know!” he moaned again, burying his face back into the crock of Jason’s neck.

Jason continued to pet him, like physical contact could make this right when it was so goddamn wrong, but eventually Dick’s breathing evened out and his body stilled.

After a long moment where Dick seemed to be rubbing his face into Jason’s armpit, and snuffling – eww – his brother finally seemed calm enough to make a bit of sense.

“Jason?” Dick’s voice was calm but subdued and Jason shifted slightly so he could look at him. “When are we going to get out? Please tell me it’s soon.”

“Yeah Dickie, I have things in motion. Hopefully we will move forward within the week – maybe two.”

“It needs to be soon.”

“What shit are you in Goldie?” Jason asked, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know and pretty sure it was going to complicate his life in new and traumatic ways.

“Just tell me Jay,” Dick said, and Jason couldn’t help but notice the nickname, “tell me your plan is more than about getting out. I want to kill these sons of bitches, I want them gone!” His voice was strained, desperate and full of that Grayson brand of stubborn than made him such a force to be reckoned with.

“I don’t have a plan, but you better believe we are taking them down – even if I have to kill them one by one.”

Dick breathed out a long uneven breath, it sounded strangely hopeful “Tell me” he said, “tell me what you will do to them.”

“Erm…” Jason said, a little perplexed as to what Dick wanted to hear.

“Lie to me if you have to, I just want to know I will be free – and they will pay for what they did! To me… and to the others.”

Jason could feel wet on his skin – Nightwing’s tears seemed so very wrong it was beyond his ability to cope with.

“You want me to describe what I would do to stop them? To punish them?”

Dick pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Yes, tell me.”

“Well,” Jason looked up to the metal bunk above his own as if it had some of the answers he was looking for. It stared back, unimpressed. “This is a tiny bit creepy but I kind of love it, so will a promise of a horrible, messy death be enough?” he said at last.

Dick smiled, a wet and slightly messy expression and Jason was forced to spend a few moments working out the feeling in his belly – it was anxious, squirmy and angry, but also surprisingly squishy. He thought it might be affection, a very unfamiliar feeling for him in regards to his family – and damn if he didn’t need to nip that shit in the bud.

Of course, the universe thought different.

“Jason,” Dick sighed his name and tightened his arms around his chest. This had definitely moved into cuddling territory and Jason smothered a groan, this was the beginning of the end he was sure of it.


	11. Chapter 11

Dick refused to elaborate on what it was he had done; in fact, after the uncomfortable cuddling session, he became rather withdrawn and outright refused to answer Jason’s questions – whether he asked nice or threatened bloody murder.

He flinched when the main gates opened for any reason, and doubly so when a guard was visible. It was putting Jason on edge.

That, and the fact it had been a while since Benson and the ’Snake had made any sort of move towards them. He was not the kind of man to let something like Dick’s performance on his first day go without retribution – the fact that Dick had been turned out and belonged to Jason might have given them some breathing room but that was all. Jason had to be completely ready when it came to the crunch, especially as the fight with Mordden and its aftermath had done a shitload of damage to his rep, and Benson might not be prepared to wait much longer for revenge. The waiting was making Jason nervous.

Of course, his instincts were bang on as usual.

Dick had been sulking in their cell with Fahim – he was refusing to shower, which made him an unpleasant bunkmate [that might have been the point] so Jason had taken the trip to the shower rooms himself. When he came back, Benson and three other guys from the ’Snake were in his cell talking to Dick.

To his credit, Dick was maintaining a balance of being submissive without appearing too vulnerable, sat on the edge of the bunk as Benson leaned over him, threatening with his bulk.

“Is there a problem” Jason asked as he strolled up, keeping his pace casual as he worked out the distance between him and his shank – he had a small blade on him, but he would feel much more confident with something stronger in his grasp.

“Just chatting to your boy here.” Benson said with a smirk “I was asking him to show me his colors. He wasn’t being very cooperative – not very well trained Foxx.”

“I like ’em feisty,” Jason said as his mind raced, a cold feeling beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. This was going to be Very Bad. “He’s not marked – kind of an outdated practice I thought.”

“I’m a big believer. This bitch was mine I’d make sure people knew it. You seem move of the cuddling type.”

The other guys from the ’Snake laughed and Jason couldn’t help but notice that the rest of the men in the cell had drifted away, or were studiously avoiding looking in their direction. Fahim was hunched two bunks away, nose in a book, but Jason could feel the tension radiating off him.

“Its costly and I don’t trust some asswipe with my stuff,” Jason countered. “Truth is I wasn’t aware it was even a thing anymore, not in here anyway.”

Benson’s smile grew cruel and mocking.“If you don’t have your name on it, some one might steal it – and then where would you be?”

“I don’t take kindly to people touching what’s mine.” Jason said though gritted teeth. “And that,” he pointed at Dick who was still silent and looking at him in confusion, “is _mine_.”

“Prove it.” Benson said, the satisfaction clear in his voice. It was obvious he wanted to see Dick hurt, to test the relationship between them – if Jason actually cared for him, if he cared for Jason it would be a huge weak spot to be exploited, and probably a fatal one.

“I don’t have the gear or the capital for it, so I never bothered, but I’m not against it.” Jason cut his eyes at Dick who looked like they were speaking in tongues – which they kind of were from his perspective.

Benson tangled his big fingers in Dick’s hair, tugging his head up. Dick allowed himself to be moved. trusting Jason to have a handle on the situation and that just made the cold feeling worse. He really wasn’t handling this shit at all.

“I’ll provide the necessities – you provide the show.” Benson said.

Dick was having difficulty hiding his loathing of the big man still holding him by the hair, and Jason wished he could have prepared for this - as it was his mind was racing. If anyone did to him what he was about to do to Dick he would never forgive them - hell, he would end them in a messy, public display of rage. But he couldn’t find a way out, not without starting a fight they would both lose. He had far to much to do before they could engage the ’Snake and they sure as shit couldn’t do it with out Redford present – Benson was just an enforcer; it had to be Redford he took out.

“Lead the way.” As he lent over and took Dick’s hair in his hand, his fingers brushed Benson’s and the man smirked at him. Jason repressed a shiver and tugged Dick to his feet. “Don’t give me any of you lip, bitch” he told Dick in a cold voice. As quick and subtly as he could he mouthed, ‘I’m sorry, no choice - this or die.’ A bit dramatic maybe, but it wasn’t far from the truth. The slight shift in his brother’s body language indicated he could still read lips and was following his lead.

Dick had no idea what was coming, and Jason felt sick.

They walked down the stairs to the lower tier, past folks who were muttering and jeering, but Jason ignored them. He was busy dredging up every detail of what he was about to do – no way anyone else was gonna do it, and no way he was going to do a shitty job. He was also trying to figure out a plan that didn’t get either of them dead – and some way to let him do this without Dick flipping out and getting them both killed.

So far, he wasn’t doing well.

They were escorted in to cell two, a place Jason actually wanted to be and yet the last place he wanted to be right now. Some days he felt like irony’s bitch.

Redford was there, sitting on his triple bunk and drinking this prison’s version of Pruno. Jason could smell it – and that was a good thing to know; when and how much alcohol he drank. That shit was lethal and it would be much easier to take them down if they were half cut. Luckily Redford didn’t seem interested in what was about to happen – he had no interest in Dick or Jason himself – but despite that, this was still a potentially explosive situation.

They reached the main table and one of the thugs started to remove his belt. Benson lifted an eyebrow at Jason and he knew he had to act. He struck fast and hard - the only way he would get Dick to submit without telling him the importance of what was happening. He moved around the table, reached over quick as a snake, grabbed Dick’s hair and pulled him down hard onto the surface of the table. Dick struggled and thrashed, but the guy tied his belt around one leg, lashing it to the table. A second man took over from Jason, holding Dick’s head and arms down whilst Jason circled round and caught the free leg, securing it with his own makeshift belt. He looked down at his brother – bent over and spread-eagled across the table, Dick’s bare back heaving with the wild breaths he was inhaling.

It terrified him how sexy he found Dick like this, even more so that such a thought would enter his head during a situation as fucked up and dangerous as this. He couldn’t deny the warm tightness in his belly, even though he wished he could.

Benson’s second stepped forward with the gun and Jason reached out for it. The man hesitated before handing it over - it wasn’t bad, but it was old, built using a pen and a small motor. It might once have been an electric shaver, or part of a radio.

“I’m not doing this with out a clean needle,” he said scowling at the men surrounding him .“I fuck him without a rubber – hate the things, -so no clean needle no tatt.”

A man shuffled from the back and limped up to him, offering a vacuum packed needle from the clinic. Jason inspected it and the seals in the packaging, at least it wasn’t a paper clip like the last time he had seen someone do this “Lets get this show on the road!” he said as he cracked it out and fitted it to the head of the gun. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, even as he lay the needle against Dick’s skin and flicked the switch.

Dick jerked as it hit his skin, and started to curse in multiple languages – some of which Jason didn’t even recognize. His body thrashed and twitched as he struggled to break free from the bonds, obviously having realized this was actually going to happen and that Jason didn’t have any sort of plan to avoid it.

Jason was forced to stop before he even got started as the wiggling and shuddering was not going to lend itself to a half descent tattoo, and the complete lack of control was not looking good for either of them. He was going to have to do something drastic and except the fact Dick would hate him forever – even more than he would have anyway.

Benson was still wearing that knowing smirk. “Looks like your boy might need a bit of discipline,” he said.

Jason grinned at him, the expression feeling more like a rictus than a smile, but he didn’t hesitate. He yanked Dick’s shorts down until they rested just under his ass, and landed a stinging slap against his butt cheeks. The sound was surprisingly loud and the men surrounding them laughed and hooted. Jason swung again and Dick yelped with the impact, he stuck again and a pink blush started to form over the ridiculously smooth skin under his hand. Jason idly wondered if his moron brother had undergone some sort of hair removal treatment or if he was naturally that smooth – he couldn’t imagine Dick sneaking off to shave his ass every morning in here.

And yes, he was aware that sort of thought process was just his brains way of avoiding dealing with the situation at hand and the feeling it brought up in him.

The feelings were the problem – a weird mix of horror, rage and lust. The anger and disgust were aimed at the ‘Snake and at himself. The lust was the crux of the problem though – he could have dealt with this if his cock wasn’t getting harder in his pants with every smack of skin on skin. This was a hundred teenage fantasies gone horribly wrong, but his body just wouldn’t listen to his brain, and by the time someone handed him a belt he was struggling to stay focused.

The belt was guard issued, not the cloth things the prisoners had, leather with a metal buckle. The guards just fucking sucked – now would be a great time for some zapping but no, they seemed content to let him beat the shit of his punk, who was tied to a table. Awesome.

The belt left red welts on the soft skin of the back of Dick’s thighs, his brother let out a pained grunt at the first impact but remained quiet through the next flurry of blows. Jason appreciated his stoicism but he really would have rather he cried out or begged, anything to appease the watching sadists and get them back on track.

As quick as he thought was reasonable he cast the belt aside. “I prefer my hand,” he said, not faking the huskiness to his voice. “He knows his place, just has to be reminded every so often.” He smoothed one big hand over the swell of Dick’s ass, the reddened skin and the heat radiating from it was making his throat tight. In other circumstances this would be fucking incredible, the best thing he could think of – but now it was tainted. In his fantasies Dick wanted this, enjoyed it. The furthest thing to what he was actually doing imaginable.

He drew his hand back for another slap, his own palm was sweaty and sore, he was sure that Dick must be in some considerable discomfort. The next blows he alternated long and short, fast and slow, all perfectly measured. He had no idea if Dick would pick up on what he was doing but when Dick started pleading and begging – making the surrounding men push forward to watch - he knew his message had gotten though.

Seriously, what was his life that he had to slap someone in Morse code? Really it was absurd, but genius if he did say so himself. Some of the fear and horror lifted now he knew Dick understood he didn’t want to hurt him, that their bargain was still in place.

“I think we’re done” Jason said, surveying the bruises and bright pink stain over Dick’s ass cheeks. “Don’t want to wear out my writs before I’ve even gotten started.”

He lent over Dick’s back, to bite viciously at his shoulders and neck, and sneaked a look at his face as he did so. He was flushed in anger or shame, his bottom lip held between his teeth. It sent Jason back to the first time he had seen Dick as a sexual creature, the first time he had fantasized about him – he had watched him jerk off through the window, watched him bite his lip and stroke himself, a flush creeping across his cheeks and down his chest. Jason’s mouth had watered; he had tasted his own want on his tongue. He had been 14 and Bruce had been mad he had been out by himself, but it had been worth it.

Jason shook himself from the past and picked up the gun. This time Dick was quiet beneath him as he laid the needle against flesh.

Jason would never consider himself much of an artistic talent, but he had been something of a graffiti artist in his youth and he employed all the skill he could to make the lines smooth and strong. He wiped off the excess ink, and wished he was wearing gloves for this but that would be far too suspicious.

He worked as carefully as he could, glad that the ’Snake were letting him do his thing and not hassling him to much. As time passed at the design started to take shape and Jason began to feel the warm flush of arousal again. He was marking Dick permanently as his – just the thought of it made his cock hard.

Dick’s skin was sweaty and it jumped under the gun – it wasn’t as fast or strong as he would have liked, so it was taking a long time. Benson watched them throughout, and Jason hated him so much he had to let his mind wander or he would fuck everything up by punching him.

His mind wandered to a bad place, a place where he might put his mouth over the tattoo taking shape under his gun, where he might pull a bit of that scarred skin into his between his lips and worry it with his teeth. He wanted Dick, there was no denying that, but he could never have him - although his body was getting off on proceedings. He was well aware he was grinding his hips in slow controlled rolls against Dick’s ass but this was nothing like what he wanted. Even if it was just the two of them, no tattoo gun, no coercion, it still wouldn’t be right – the man beneath him had no idea who he was, who either of them were, and the thought was like a splash of cold water. It could never be consensual, and in many ways that was a relief -he might want it, his dick might get hard, but he would never take it. And that line of reasoning meant he could trust himself again.

Jason kept the line steady, and he felt calm fall over him for the first time since he had walked into his cell and seen Benson – no matter what, he was in control. His penis disagreed and refused to cease its interest in Dick’s butt and the ink Jason was painting across his skin, but despite the temptation and the fear, he was in control. Once he decided that, he could actually feel his brothers muscles relax slightly beneath him. They were going to get through this

 

When it was finished the design was puffy and a bit swollen, but he just knew it would look good once it had settled.

“Strange mark you got there,” Benson said, standing way to close to him .“I’m surprised it’s so simple – almost pure.”

Jason surveyed his handy work. “It’s what I want, did you get what _you_ wanted?”

Speaking so freely was risky but damn, he felt it was worth it.

“Guess so Foxx, guess so.” Benson gave him a calculating look. “Only going to warn you once - keep an eye on it. I see it unaccompanied I’m going to take it and you ain’t getting it back.”

Jason just bared his teeth. Let him do as he pleased, any attempt would probably just land him another kick in the nuts.

He reached down and swung Dick sideways until he was sitting on the edge of the table. Dick’s face was flushed and he kept his eyes downcast, but the one look he shot Jason from beneath his lashes was not amused. It reminded him of the time he had shot Dick in the ass with a tranq gun and handed him over to some kidnappers in exchange for intel on a drug syndicate. Dick hadn’t been in uniform and had to wait for the Bat-brigade to rescue him. The expression on his face as Jason had walked out promised swift and terrible retribution. Jason felt a shiver of trepidation run down his spine – Nightwing’s revenge had been unpleasant and embarrassing.

 

Dick was walking with a noticeable stiffness, and the redness from the beating was showing from beneath the hem of his shorts. Ignoring the catcalls Jason kept silent until they reached the relative safety of their own cell.

“Dickie…” he began.

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Don’t you want to know what it is?” he couldn’t help asking.

“No” Dick threw himself onto the bunk and pulled the sheet over his head. Jason supposed the design wouldn’t mean anything to him anyway – although he was surprised to realize it meant something to him.

He had been careful to stylize and simplify it, so only someone who knew what they were looking at would recognize it for what it was - the sleek lines of Nightwing’s symbol – reaching across his lower back like wings.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-consensual situations, general fucked-upness

Dick was angry. He’d spent the whole night facing the wall and refused to give up any of the blankets, leaving Jason to rock the bed and make what he hoped were convincing noises. Doing it without Dick’s participation made Jason feel like a moron. Although he could understand Dick’s behavior – he was actually both worried and impressed at how restrained he was being – the old Dick Grayson would have knocked most of his teeth out by now. 

But if refusing Jason blankets was making him feel better in some way, then Jason was willing to suffer the cold. For now at least.

Jason had been awake most of the night - he was both chilly and expecting retribution at any second, which made relaxing hard. So of course it was in the early hours, when his eyes began to flutter shut of their own volition that Dick struck.

He turned over quick as lightning and pressed an arm against Jason’s throat, using his body weight and his free had to pin him on the bunk.

“How could you do that to me,” Dick hissed, his arm cutting off Jason’s air painfully.

Jason grunted and Dick eased off a little so he could answer. “I did the best I could – it don’t feel that way but I did. For what its worth, I’m sorry.”

“I know, you told me that whilst you were giving me a public beating.” He shut his eyes and shivered, like the memory of that humiliation was creeping over his skin. “I know you did what you had to.”

“So what’s the problem?” Jason just had to ask. “Surely where on the same page?” 

“The problem?” Dick said, cold rage burning in his eyes. “The problem, Jason, is how fucking much you enjoyed doing that to me. And don’t even think about pretending that you didn’t.”

Jason had a sneaky suspicion that this conversation was not going to go well.

He couldn’t think of a way to explain himself with out making the situation worse, especially when his brother was laying on his chest and choking him.

“Do you get off on humiliation and pain or is it just mine?” Dick asked him, leaning in close, his face set with fury. For the first time Jason had a feeling of real worry; he was pretty sure he cold get out of the hold Dick had on him - although his arm was tight against his throat he could still just about breathe, and he had one hand free to throw a punch if he had to - but there was a spark of doubt shivering just under his skin. A spark that took flame as Dick moved one of his thighs so it rested tight against Jason’s crotch.

“Not got an answer for me, Jay?” Dick asked in a voice like frayed silk and there were proximity alarms going off in Jason’s head as his brother leaned down, his words caressing Jason’s lips.

He grunted and tried to twitch Dick’s arm away from his neck so he could speak. Dick allowed the movement – barely.

There were so many things that needed to be said right now - things about shared history, about how uncomfortable this situation was making him, how sorry he was about everything that had happened.

So of course he went with the most pointless, inane thing instead. “Dickie you stink – go take a shower.” This was true, Dick did not smell very nice after a few days of being unwashed, plus all the fear and exertion of yesterday had left their mark. Jason could feel it on his own skin, like a trail of slime.

Dick started to move against him with slow, sensuous rolls of his hips, and seriously what the fuck? This had gone from mildly alarming to full out fucked-up in a very short space of time.

“Yeah - I stink, I’m unshaven and look like crap,” Dick smirked down at him as Jason’s body started to respond to the friction, “and yet you still want this.”

Jason did not want this one goddamn bit - in fact it was pushing all the wrong fucking buttons and then some. He felt trapped by a combination of his own guilt and the fact that, no matter what his mind thought, his penis seemed to have its own ideas and was getting uncomfortably hard in his boxers. Sometimes he had a real love-hate relationship with his cock.

In fact right now it seemed to be staging a full on rebellion. This shit didn’t happen to him, he had all his feelings of arousal and lust locked down under ridged control - hell, after the last time he’d let his hormones run away with him he’d sworn off sex entirely – but Dick just did things to him. He had thought it was the vulnerability of this new Dick, but no, apparently this crazy and aggressive one was hot too. He was so fucked.

He also couldn’t help but notice that Dick was not hard at all. This was about rage, nothing else, and it filled him with an indescribable feeling of _wrong_. He pushed at Dick’s chest with his free hand. “Get off me,” he said, and although his hard-on and the slight breathlessness in his voice might have made it unconvincing, he really meant it – this shit had to stop before it got out of hand. “I mean it Dick, off!”

He was loosing his grip here, and he felt an anxious shiver wrack his body. He didn’t know if he wanted to kill Dick or fuck him, didn’t know if he could get loose to do either of those things right now. He hated being restrained like this, and what had started out as a way for him to humor Dick’s anger had turned into something bordering on his own nightmare. 

They struggled for a moment, which really didn’t help Jason’s erection problem or his rising anxiety.

“I hate you!” Dick snarled at him, grinding down harder – and it was the fact he was so obviously lying that gave Jason back his control. He stopped struggling and for the second time in the past 24 hours he stopped doubting himself, saw Dick clearer than he saw himself.

Instead of pushing at him, initiating a full on fight, he went for sneaky and underhanded, and lay his palm against Dick’s cheek, the stubble rough under his fingers. “Dickie, I’m sorry, but I can’t help my body’s fucked up reactions. I know it was probably the icing on the shit-cake, but it never would have gone further.”

“Right” Dick said, his expression full of scorn. “I am intimately familiar with every vein and ridge on your cock – I could probably pick it out of a line up! And I know this because you spent two hours rubbing it against my bare ass!” He exhaled noisily pushing his arm back against Jason’s throat in warning. “And you expect me to believe you’re sorry? That you didn’t want to follow through?”

“I’m an asshole,” Jason croaked. “I would beat the ever-loving shit out of you, I would kill you if you pissed me off enough, but I would sooner cut it off than do _that_.” He paused and struggled for breath. Dick didn’t seem like he was going to give him any leeway this time, but at least he was keeping still, no longer doing that distracting, frightening rolling of his hips “I’m just wired all wrong, anger and violence gets me hot and bothered,” and now to go in for the kill “and we have a lot of history Dickie. If you could remember then you’d understand.”

Actually, if he could remember then he would probably beat Jason to a pulp – and then again for good measure for implying the things he just had.

But if Dick believed there had been a connection between them, affection and trust, he would be easier to handle. He would be happier too, comforted - Dick was a man made of contradictions, fiercely independent, but his blind loyalty and the ferocity of his love made him shockingly co-dependent at times. Encouraging that part of him would give him a strong place to build up from, and it would give Jason all the power of that love and devotion. He had often thought if he had that behind him he could take on the world – and he had the resented the fact of all the useless fucked up people Dick had given himself to, Jason had not been one of them, not even as a kid.

Yes he was going to hell for this, but that trip was inevitable anyway.

And Dick was listening to him, breathing in huge gulps of air like he had been running. His body was shaking; so emotionally exhausted he just couldn’t fight any more. Jason wrapped his free arm around him, and Dick collapsed onto his chest, finally letting Jason breathe – although Dick’s not inconsiderable weight laying on top of him was going to cause him problems soon.

“I don’t know what to think - I don’t even know what I feel.” Dick said quietly into the skin of his chest. “You say we have history, but you wont even tell me what it is; you wont tell me who I am. Do you know how frightening it is not to know?”

Jason remained silent, trying to sort out his feelings.

“You’re all I have in here Jason, the only person who has been good to me since I can remember, but I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“Can I trust you?” Jason said at last. “Because what you just did to me was the same as I did to you.”

“I’m sorry Jay,” Dick muttered. “I truly am, but if you ever make a repeat of yesterday I will make you pay for it and screw the consequences.”

“Same.”

They lay together, with Jason being slowly squashed to death until dawn. Jason spent the time running over the events of the last to days and trying to work out if he was an asshole or not – he was trying hard not to think about Dick’s behavior, what it meant, what it meant for Dick as a person and if it changed his perception of his brother. Dick lay silent and still, his body tight with tension.

When the lights flicked on, Dick pushed himself up and Jason reached out to catch his arm. He was just going to invite him for breakfast, something to break the tension but Dick reacted like lightning and nearly broke his wrist as he twisted it viciously.

“Fuck sake!” Jason growled as Dick blinked stupidly at him.

“Damn, I…” Dick looked like a lost puppy, with fear, confusion and anger chasing themselves across his face. “I need some time to think, to get my head straight. What I… the way I acted was fucked up, and I don’t know how to feel about you.”

“Take the time then,” Jason said, flinging back the curtain, “but take Fahim with you. It’s not good to be alone after yesterday.”

Dick nodded and took off, Fahim sleepy and grumbling behind him.

Jason lay back behind the sheet. He was willing to forgo breakfast and give Dick his space, rather that that the moron fly off the handle again. He was not so much of a coward that he couldn’t admit to himself that the past day and night hadn’t effected him, frightened him in ways that he didn’t like to speculate on. He had to fully regain his equilibrium if they were going to be successful; he had to be strong and in control. But he had to let Dick be strong too, give him some measure of power somehow.

By the time a shadow appeared against the sheet, Jason was almost ready to deal with it, ready to tell Dick enough about himself to give him some grasp of his past lifestyle but not enough to be dangerous if he let something slip. He was going to tell him the meaning of the tattoo as well, hopefully that would go some way towards mollifying him.

He tugged back the sheet, but the words died on his lips. The cell was empty except for Ged Thorpe and several members of Machette16.

Not good.

Although it was a shock, the odds were still in his favor, and he plastered on a smirk as he eased out of the bunk.

“Thorpe, nice to see you” 

Thorpe smiled wide and full. “No, ’Hood, nice to see _you_ ” he said.

Well fuck, that was definitely not good. And just as he was digesting that little bombshell he caught sight of the gray uniform of a guard and he knew he was in truly deep shit.

The fist shock of electricity stole his breath and his body, the second took his consciousness and he fell in to darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: Non-consensual situations, general fucked-upness

 There was a sound like the flapping of wings in empty spaces, a dissonant noise rebounding painfully through his mind. Slowly the clamor became more distinct - the hum of voices, their words still unintelligible.

Gradually, sense was returning.

After the sounds, the next thing he registered was a lack of sight. He was blind.

_Fear._

_Think._

He was lying down, his movement restricted.

_What the fuck?_

_Assess the situation_.

His wrists were tied above his head, being held by some unknown force and his back was pressed to a hard, textured surface.

Hands were holding him down.

He felt a brief flash of panic that he ruthlessly repressed.

_Keep still._

_Assess the situation._

_Training._

There was something scratchy against his face; not blind then, blindfolded. And the strange reverberation of the voices was familiar – echoes. 

Cave?

No, a smell of harsh chemical soap and ammonia. Bathroom. 

“Hello Foxx,” a harsh voice swam out of the darkness, and with it Jason’s memory.

Shit.

The speaker leaned over him, his breath warm and pungent. It smelled like cigarettes and the mystery meat they’d had for lunch – it hadn’t been good the first time around, but on repeat it was _vile_.

Jason wrinkled his nose and tried to speak, but all that came out was a confused gargle. Apparently, his mouth hadn’t come back online with his brain. This didn’t seem to bother his captor though and he carried on right over the top of Jason’s feeble efforts.

“Been waiting to get my hands on you ’Hood, never thought I would get the chance – yet here you are.”

 You see, being recognized as your murderous alter ego was the shit you should really plan for, but somehow forget to factor in.  Not that it would have made a lot of difference.

Probably.

Damn Bruce for getting him thrown in jail in the first place, for making his face recognizable.

Jason smiled, or he hoped he was smiling; the muscles in his face were still twitching. “Dunno what ya talking ’bout,” he managed to rasp out.

He was still trying to take stock of his situation. He was flat on his back over a bench in the shower room – mystery meat guy was Ged Thorpe, he had no doubt of that, and he had identified at least six, possibly seven men in the room with him. Not bad odds – if only his body was working properly. Being able to see would probably help too. He tested his bonds slowly, carefully checking for weakness.

Not the best position to be in, but he could still work this.

All he needed was enough time to gain full control of his muscles again. Luckily, Thorpe didn’t sound like he was going to shut up anytime soon.

“You think you’re really something huh?” he said, his voice grating against Jason’s ears.  “You think you’re so tough? You don’t look so tough now do you?”

Jason had to agree - he probably didn’t look at his most fearsome, but this asshat’s attempts at bad guy talk were terrible. Sadly he didn’t seem like he was done yet either. “There’s no one to help you here, I’m going to beat you ‘till you beg for mercy and then…”

Jason cleared his throat loudly and with a gurgle of phlegm, “It’s great that you’re starting this threatening speech with some classic lines.”

There was a slight rustle, a breeze and a sudden pain in Jason’s jaw as someone stuck him across the face. “Shut the fuck up, you dirty shit!

Jason sighed; he could have come up with better insults than this during first grade.

There were suddenly hard fingers on his face, pushing at the corners of his blindfold.  Jason held still. Thorpe leaned in close, the fetid smell of his breath once again assailed Jason’s nose. “But first ’Hood, I’m going to fuck you, and then when I’m done turning you out, I’m gonna offer you up like a choice slab of meat.”

 Jason fought down a traitorous twinge of fear; very soon, he would be able to fight back. He would get out of this and make the fuckers pay for even considering this shit.

He grinned at his captors again, pleased to note that his face moved more naturally than it had five minutes ago. “A popular prison tradition, if a bit over used,” he said, keeping his voice light despite the increase of adrenaline in his body. Damned if these fuckers would see his fear, they wouldn’t get any emotion from him but sunny contempt.

Thorpe, at least he assumed that was who it was, took a hard, very painful grip on his balls. Bruce would have been proud at his lack of reaction.

“And then,” Thorpe said with a certain level of pleasure in his voice, “then I will kill you, slowly.” He twisted his fist brutally, causing raw, red agony to shoot though Jason’s body.

Jason tried for a smirk, but probably missed by a mile or two. “See I liked the classic vibe you had going on,” he said, and if his voice was a little tight; he _so_ had good reason.

The unseen hand twisted again forcing a small humiliating whimper out of Jason’s throat.  Damn if he would acknowledge it though. “I think the cock and ball torture thing might be a bit far-out you know? Perhaps a maiming would be more in line with your traditional theme?” he gasped.

Thorpe didn’t seem too impressed with Jason’s suggestion and struck him a blow across the face that made lights flash before his bound eyes.

“I’m doing this for Aaron,” he snarled. “You killed my son!”

 And that would explain why the old bastard hated him so much. A parent with a grudge was never a good thing to be faced with, always willing to go the extra mile to inflict a world of hurt to their victim of choice.

Jason worked though his pain, showed teeth in something that might have been a grin. “Well, if I killed him, he was probably a bit of a cunt… ’scuse my French.”

Thorpe gave a snarl of rage and shoved something nasty in Jason’s mouth - it tasted stale and ripe and the fibers tickled the back of his throat when he tried to inhale. Someone tore off one of his shoes and he fought back, straining against his bonds and the hands holding him down.  His body was almost under his control again, but some how he couldn’t get free, no matter which way he twisted and kicked.

He lost his other shoe, a sock and then his jump suit was yanked down over his hips. He didn’t even feel the relief of Thorpe letting go of the vice like grip on his nuts, just the shockingly cold air against the skin of his legs. Despite himself, he struggled harder, breathing raggedly through his nose. He should have had this; he should have been able to free himself.

When he felt fingers at the waist of his boxers, there was a flare of panic. A moment when his mind shorted out.

 Things only snapped back into focus, when one of his legs broke free, striking one of the men with a meaty _thunk_ and by the grunt of pain, sending him to the floor. He kicked again, landing a hit, he couldn’t tell who or where.  The world was fast becoming a pinpoint of a claustrophobic need for freedom.

Despite his struggles – in earnest now, not hampered by the residual effects of the electric shock, the men surrounding him managed to flip him onto his stomach.

Thorpe laughed at him. The feel of his anticipation and scorn crept across Jason’s skin like sickness.

He could still hear the whimpers of the man whose jaw he had probably broken with his kick, but it was little comfort.

 Even as his they pulled down his boxers and he felt hard fingers dig into his skin he couldn’t fucking believe this was happening. That he could have misjudged the response of the Machete16 and his own pathetic reaction to it.

Things were blurry, and time seemed to stretch. He sucked in a breath through his nose, and worked on fighting down his panic, and he was appalled at how hard it was.

He should have been better, stronger. He fought with everything he had and it was still not enough to save him.

He felt like he was a kid again.

 

Jason’s ears buzzed and his skin prickled with a fever-like pain. Cold ice in his veins, spreading out from the weight in his belly.

He was zoning out, barely even struggling. The pressure of the present and the past was pressing against his chest like a vice.

He was still waiting for the pain to start when his daze was ruptured - sounds, smells, all came rushing back to him; the slap of a fist hitting flesh, grunts of pain and a weird gurgling sound, like someone drowning. It took a long confused moment to realize none of the noise was coming from him, and that his arms were free.

  _Training_

Not wasting a second he pushed himself to his feet. He twisted his wrists from his bonds before ripping off the blindfold with one hand and pulling up his shorts with the other. The light was too bright; everything was a blur of colour and movement. Whilst his eyes struggled to adjust, he tore the gag  - a sock - free from his mouth and threw a punch at the nearest guy.

He missed because the man he was aiming for bent out of the way in a fluid, easy motion. Even through the fog of fear and rage Jason’s brain recognized that movement as Dick.

_Ally.  
_

_Safety_.

What that said about he subconscious he would have to deal with later, right now he had some payback to give. He lunged towards Thorpe who was writhing on the floor and stomped on his balls, twisting his bare heel as hard as he could and the sound of the fucker’s screams was a balm on his soul.

The beautiful blur of motion that was Dick, moved about him in a deadly dance and Jason trusted that the he would keep the rest of the gang away whilst he dealt with this bastard. He wasn’t leaving this room still breathing.

Kneeling on top of the whimpering man, one knee crushing his nuts into the grimy floor, he bent his head close. “Your son, Aaron? He squealed like a pig before I gutted him. Want to know what I used?” Thorpe’s face was swollen from the blows Dick had landed, and the tears and snot that were leaking down his chin made a pathetic picture. Jason smiled, a slow, cruel curve of his lip “A ‘Ragged Strike.’ Do you know what that does to a man? He wasn’t found till morning.” Jason pushed his fingers against his windpipe, and watched him choke. “The muck from his intestines and the acid from his stomach were just filling up the spaces the blade made between his organs. Can you imagine how that hurt?”

“Jason…. Jason let him go!” Dick’s voice,

“This fucker is fucking dead, you fucking hear me?” Jason snarled at him.

“That’s a lot of fucking’s in one sentence,” Dick said almost conversationally, as his cool fingers closed around Jason’s wrist, trying to tug his hands away from Thorpe’s throat.  “We need them Jay, remember?” Dick sounded calm.  He pulled harder at Jason’s wrist.

Jason turned to him, ready to lash out. This bastard was dying in agony tonight - no matter what golden boy had to say about it - but what he saw in Dick’s face stopped him cold. He felt sick betrayal at the anger, the rage in Dick’s eyes.

How fucking dare Dick judge his actions?

Then, with a rush of confused feeling, he realized that fury in Dick’s eyes wasn’t aimed at him, it was _for_ him. Despite the stillness of his body and the calm in his voice Dick wanted to murder these men, he wanted them to pay almost as much as Jason did.

No one had ever felt that for him. Bruce had felt it because of him, but not for him – if Jason had been so weak as to let these petty criminals overwhelm him then Bruce would have nothing but censure and condemnation. And he would have deserved that scorn.

“Jason,” Dick said again, one hand rested on Jason’s shoulder, the other still held his wrist in a firm grip, preventing lethal force.

“I can’t,” Jason said, his voice sounded hoarse, as though he had been screaming.

“You must. If he had succeeded in… doing what he was going to do, then I wouldn’t hesitate, but you have to let him go – for now.” Dick’s face was full of earnestness, but he was avoiding looking at the man on the floor between them. “He won’t go unpunished, I promise you that.”

Right, like Jason hadn’t heard that one before.

He let Dick pull his fingers away from Thorpe’s throat, leaving angry white marks that quickly reddened.

Dick was right, they did need this fucker, but just the thought of letting him walk out of here created a burst of fear and rage and it was suddenly all too much. His stomach heaved and he vomited onto Thorpe’s face. 

There was a long moment, where Jason just concentrated on breathing and the weight of Dick’s gaze and his fucking pity burned against his cheek. Instead of glancing at his brother, he stared down at Thorpe. It was kinda satisfying that whenever the man sucked in a wheezy breath he was inhaling bits of Jason’s puke. It wasn’t nearly as good as gutting the fucker and hanging his spleen from the showerhead, but it was all he was going to get today.

“Let’s get out of here,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Now he smelled like mystery meat too - and fear. The scent of it was all over him and it turned his stomach again. No chance of a shower while these punks were unconscious or bleeding all over the bathroom.

Dick took his arm to help him up and Jason shook him off violently. He straightened his spine, pulled up his jump suit and slipped on his shoes. He schooled his expression to a casual nonchalance he didn’t feel.

Dick in turn, hunched his shoulders and looked at the floor, falling into step behind him, perfectly submissive.  _Yeah right._

He was glad for the silence, as they made their way back across the catwalk. It was heavy and full of friction, but it gave him time to collect himself a bit. He needed to make a pithy comment about how Dick was late to the party or squeamish or… something. He couldn’t though, and his body was still shaking no mater how much he tried to quiet it. It took all his concentration not to twitch at the usual noise and jostling on the catwalk.

And now he thought about it, his nuts really, really hurt.

 

Fahim shot him a look as he approached his bunk, he obviously sensed something was wrong, the canny old goat. But he was sensible enough not to mention it as Jason flung back the privacy sheet and threw himself onto his bunk. Dick hesitated a moment before gracefully climbing over him to the other side of the bed.

They lay in silence for a few long minutes. With the sheet down, it diffused the light - like a cocoon, away from the prison outside.

Jason couldn’t stop his body shaking, flashes of fear and adrenalin zapping through his muscles. He cut his eyes sideways at Dick, and was relived to see he wasn’t looking at him, instead he was staring at the bunk above. He suspected Dick was doing that on purpose – it was hard to give someone space when you were living check by jowl in a tiny cot.

After a few long minuets, Dick started shifting slightly, antsy and Jason just knew his idiot brother was going to try to talk about what happened.  Dick probably wanted him to have a cry and a hug.

“Are you hurt?”  Dick asked after a moment, his voice low.

“I’m fine,” Jason replied curtly. He was going to end up punching Dick in the face he just knew it.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Dick said quietly

“Shut _up_.”

“I mean it Jay, it’s part of my job right? To look out for you whilst you try and get us out of here?”

Jason scowled; he didn’t need this right now, probably ever. He dithered between punching Dick into silence or just changing the subject.

“How did you know we needed that shitstain alive?” He asked after a moment of internal debate. “I sure as hell don’t remember telling you.”

He felt the bed shift as Dick shrugged. “I asked Fahim. It was obvious you weren’t going to let me in on what you were doing, and I figured I should know what was going on so I didn’t fuck it up.”

“Did the old traitor share anything else with you?” Jason growled

“He said you had some risky half-assed plan that was going to get us all killed, and he thinks you’re all kinds of an idiot for a whole load of reasons.”

“Oh great, thanks for the pep-talk, asshole.” Jason muttered

They lapsed into another uncomfortable silence, he could actually hear Dick’s brain going as he tried to work out what he could say to fix everything.

“I know what its like, how it feels… ” Dick began tentatively and no, this was not something Jason was equipped to deal with right now; he didn’t need the extra burden the rage and regret of having his suspicions about his brothers treatment over the last six moths confirmed.

“Just stop,” he snarled, “just stop, go do something else ‘till lights out and let me be.” His voice sounded rough and damp to his own ears. He just needed some time to put himself back together, to get his game face back on.

Instead of leaving, Dick shuffled closer to him, butt first, until his back was flush against Jason’s side. Irritated, he turned towards his brother, reaching out a fist to thump him away, but Dick just rolled with the punch and claimed his hand, tugging Jason’s arm around himself like a safety harness.

The sneaky bastard had tricked him into a reverse hug, now it was Jason offering comfort, Jason in control. Dick was giving him what space he could by facing away, giving Jason his vulnerable back, his trust and support. Sometimes he really didn’t know how to deal with his brother, how someone who thought feathers and polka dots were a good look, could read him better than he could read himself. It was baffling

It also hadn’t escaped his notice that Dick was still hanging onto his hand where it rested against his belly

The warmth of Dick’s body and the familiar smell of his sweat and skin was helping to ease his shudders, he had so much he should be doing, but he couldn’t go back out there like this – with tremors still wreaking his body and the fear still in his eyes.

Tomorrow he would pull himself together, get things moving. He buried his face in the soft, over grown hair at the back of Dick’s neck.

Tomorrow would be soon enough.

 


	14. Interlude 2

“There were bats! Actual bats! Flapping around and crapping everywhere!” Doctor Sally Adedayo waved her arms at Jim in agitation. “What kind of place is that to raise children?”

Jim had often wondered that himself - what sort of man he was, that he had allowed children to live such a life, allowed it for over a decade. “How was the boy?” he asked, hoping to distract her from her anger.

“Sick. Very sick, whatever he inhaled caused severe damage to his lungs, The medication I administered will ease his breathing and his pain, but without the facility for a full transplant it’s only a matter of time. Months maybe, if he’s lucky.”

“Or unlucky.” Jim couldn’t help but add. He had seen slow, lingering deaths before – it was not a pleasant way to go.

Sally nodded her head sadly. They spent a moment looking down at the bustling soup kitchen – or what had been the soup kitchen. Gotham’s residents, having once again proved themselves to be shockingly resilient, had turned it into something of a market where people could exchange goods and food in relative safety. As long as there was no overt resistance the Anathema left them alone, too busy fighting the little organized terrorist cells that had sprung up all over the country. It was a losing battle and although Jim wanted nothing more than to fight back, his first priority was to keep as many people alive and healthy as possible.

Beside him Sally sighed. It was a struggle for her to be away from her loved ones – as it was for Jim. Sally had been in America for three days when it fell, having traveled from London for a conference. Typical that her first trip to Gotham had resulted in her being stuck here and ironic that, as far as he knew, his own daughter was in London -she had been on vacation with her friend. They had heard nothing on the state of Europe after the fall and had no communication with her people. He knew Barbara was a strong and capable woman, and was probably safe and worrying herself silly over him, but he couldn’t prevent his anxiety leaking into his thoughts at odd times in the day.

Sally was first to shake off the quiet. “Are they brothers, those boys?” She asked. “They don’t look too alike, but I can’t imagine two sets off parents allowing their children out on the street fighting crime.” She snorted. “Ten year olds fighting crime! Ridiculous!” Jim felt that one was directed partly at him, but he deserved it – never mind his own anger and concern after seeing the first Robin in action. Arguing with Batman was like smacking your head against a large, angry brick wall. Although he had known the man shared his own worries - after he had insisted Batman take the boy off the streets, Batman had just turned away, as he often did when confronted with something he was unable or unwilling to answer, but Jim had heard the almost inaudible whisper of, _'How would I stop him?'_ and he had a flash of insight. Better to have the boy under his own guidance than alone.

Maybe letting it continue had been the wrong choice, but done was done. “Without those boys and girls on the streets over the years I would be dead ten times over by now. I don’t like it, kids deserve a childhood,” he sighed and shook his head, “but it would be hypocritical of me to argue the point.”

Sally looked at him long and hard, but there was no real censure in her expression.

“And to answer your question, I don’t know if they are related by blood, but I would consider them brothers.” Jim said into the silence.

Sally gave a bark of laughter. “Was the little one raised by wolves? I’ve never met such an obnoxious child!” She sounded more amused than horrified though and Jim was sure Robin had left a lasting impression – as he did on everyone he met.

“Wolves are much better behaved,” he said, smiling. “There have been some interesting characters in the family, some with more manners than others.”

“You’ve known them a long time haven’t you? And the Batman?”

Jim sighed feeling a weight settle on his shoulders. What he wouldn’t give to have his old friend here. Strange to consider him a friend - they had often been at odds over things, but in the end Jim knew the man wanted what was best for he city’s people. Wanted to help the innocent. “I have”

“And you have no idea who they really are?”

Jim shrugged, he had his suspicions, but no proof - and he didn’t want any. “I’ve seen some of those children grow up out there. I’ve known Red Robin since he was just a kid.”

Sally ran a hand across her short curls. “He still is a kid, he can’t be more than 16, surely.”

Jim shrugged again. “I wish things were different, but wishing won’t get things done.”

“I tried to persuade them to come here, so I can treat the boy properly, and Robin won’t have deal with his death alone.”

“Bet that went down well.”

“Robin told me I could go to hell, the little miscreant, but under all that arrogance and bluster there is a scared child who has lost too much, I wish there was something more we could do,” she said.

“Me too Sally, me too.”


	15. Chapter 15

Jason woke before dawn. Sleep had eluded him for most of the night and his head felt tight and full of sand. It took him a long, confused moment to register Dick wrapped around him, hugging him with his arms and legs, one hand tangled it his hair. It struck him that his mind and body no longer registered Dick as a threat and found his presence comforting

That was a worrying development.

He was also distressed to find himself flinching at every noise from beyond the sheet; it made him feel week and strangely desperate. The quicker he got some closure on this Thorpe situation the better. If he was to be brutally pragmatic it could be said that the events of the last twenty four hours had put him it exactly the position he needed to be – he would still have to be careful during negotiations, but he now had the perfect excuse to start them. And Dick was once again firmly in his court. The only problem with that was he was feeling rather reluctant to go through with the next part of the plan.

The bit where he handed Dick over to Benson as a bribe.

It was making him feel a bit shit - especially after yesterday. That had been a horrid reminder that even the best laid plans could blow up in your face, and he wasn’t keen to watch the same thing happen to Dick.

And, if he was honest with himself, he was terrified of ending up in that position again. The thought of it made bile rise in this throat – if he was anywhere else he would go to ground for a while till he got himself back in order, but that wasn’t an option. He had to get his shit together, fast.

Dick murmured sleepily at him and Jason felt himself petting his brother’s back. He was fairly sure he hadn’t given his arm permission to do that.

“Jay? All ok?”

“Yeah Dickie, just thinking about my plans for the day.”

“You want to tell me about them?” Dick yawned at him.

“I was thinking a long walk it the park, followed by a light lunch of sushi and beer and then going to a show – maybe the Lion King.”

Dick snorted and Jason felt himself relax a little. “Failing that I was planning on implementing the next stage – strike whilst the iron is hot”

“What does that entail?”

Jason shifted round until they were nose to nose, and he tugged the blanket up to muffle their voices further. “I’m going to approach Benson for help dealing with Thorpe.”

“Sounds risky.”

“Yeah, but he’s going to go for it – he wont be able to resist making a public spectacle of me, and I have something he wants.”

“Me.”

“Yeah.”

They lay in silence for a few minutes, both contemplating how that would work out. So much could go wrong and Jason felt a tightness in his gut.

“After this its the home stretch right?” Dick asked, his voice full of determination. “I can do whatever’s necessary.”

“Don’t. If it feels like something’s off, then act - OK? Trust your instincts we can always find another way.”

Dick nodded, but he had that resolute look in his eyes that always meant trouble.   
“So what’s the first thing on the agenda for the day?”

“I need to look the part – beaten down, nervous.” He couldn’t bring himself to say scared

“That shouldn’t be to difficult; you look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Dick said, poking one of the deep bags he was sure were under his eyes.

“Thanks asshole. I mean I need to look like it was a close thing.”

Dick’s expression hardened. “It was a close thing Jason, if I hadn’t been there you would have been in very serious trouble.”

“All I got from those shits is bruised balls.”

“How bad is it down there?” Dick asked with a sympathetic wince – then, displaying a complete lack of personal boundaries, he shuffled round and pulled up the waistband of Jason’s boxers.

Jason had been avoiding looking at the damage, but now they both examined the bruises. It really didn’t look good, and just seeing it made the pain feel worse.

“Well,” Dick said in a hushed voice “I’m not sure you will ever have children after that. Does it still hurt?”

Jason bit back a snarl. Of course it fucking hurt, but the physical pain was better than dwelling on the other stuff so he focused and channeled it. “Of course it hurts you moron, I look like I got my dick stuck in a meat grinder!”

Dick gave an amused snort, the bastard. “You’ll live.”

He was still staring, so Jason cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow at him. “If you’re done examining my genitals for the day?”

Dick let the waistband snap back down and looked at him, a little shame-faced.

“I’m sorry Jay – its just I’ve never seen such a varied palate of color on a penis before,” he said, his expression full of earnestness. Jason snorted a laugh and Dick’s mouth twitched for a moment before he broke into a wide grin.

Damn his freaky ability to know the right thing to say - if their positions had been reversed Jason would have made a mess of that weirdly backwards pep talk, but it was the exact thing he needed to get through the day. A flash of humor to distract him from his own horrible thoughts.

“Can I come with you today?” Dick asked into the comfortable silence.

Jason thought about it. It would make him feel better if Dick was there, but would be counter productive. “I think not” he said, after a moment. “It would be best if I did this next bit on my own, but keep an ear out in case shit hits the fan.” He turned to look Dick in the eyes “But make sure I need help before you go barreling in. It might get a little heated - I’ve got to be angry and desperate after all - so no charging in without a signal from me, OK?”

“Is my job just to sit around and hope you don’t get yourself killed?”

“No, I want you to keep an eye on people. Look for the ambitious, and folks who’re dissatisfied with their treatment by the Red Snake – even members of the gang. When we make our move we need to have a very good idea who will swing in which direction, anyone who has anything of a conscience remaining – everything.”

“I’m way ahead of you on that one. I’ve been keeping a list.”

“And this is why I wanted you on my side - this and your ability to kick ass, of course.”

Dick grinned. “Of course”

 

Jason sent Fahim to bring his breakfast and he sat down in his usual spot on the stairs, carefully watching the usual morning bustle. Yesterday’s incident had not gone unnoticed – the Machete16 were huddled closely, casting wary glares, and Redford, Benson and the Snake were watching intently. Any shift in power had to be carefully monitored, and the fact the Machete16 had at least one guard in their pockets was a very pertinent piece of info for everyone else, especially their main rivals. In fact it almost insured that Benson and Redford would take his deal – the main gang was the only one that should have clout from the New Screws.

He, Dick and Fahim ate quickly. Dick was almost twitching with adrenaline and Jason’s own blood was pumping fast; he wanted to move now, get it over with.

Waiting was a bitch.

 

He approached Benson in cell two, as another enforcer led him into the cell where Benson and Redford were holding court. Benson didn’t even pretend to be surprised to see him - he looked like a man who knew he had already won.

“Could I have a word?” Jason said. He had to play this carefully, figuring he had a 60/40 chance of pulling this off with out having to get in an actual fight. The risk was in the rumors he had been turned out – if that was the case then the Snake would just try to take what they wanted, they didn’t need to make deals with a punk.

“What can I do for you Foxx?” Benson asked, his voice layered with a false concern that was belied by the sharp look in his eyes. He was a cat who wanted to play with its prey before it delivered its killing blow.

“You know why I’m here Benson. I have a problem I reckon you can help with.”

“And why should I help you? Have you ever done anything for me?”

“Nothing yet, but I could be an asset.” Jason said cautiously

“I’ve already got a punk, Foxx.” Benson gave him a slow once over. “But you might serve well as a cautionary tale – look before you leap.”

Jason changed his posture carefully, angry but not too aggressive. “I'm no-one’s punk Benson, the only reason they even got a hit in is because they had me zapped!” Jason tried to change his facial expression from the rage he felt tugging his lips into a snarl. “And that’s something you should be concerned about, Thorpe having a guard do that – who will it be next time, eh?”

“That’s for us to worry about. You want us to take they guy out? Are we your dogs? Your bitches?” Benson stepped in uncomfortably close and it took every ounce of willpower for Jason not to lash out.

“I know it won’t be free. After this shit I’m going to have to work extra hard to keep my head above water anyway so I figure maybe I could use some friends,” Jason said. He was hanging onto his composure by a thread and that pissed him off. The anger helped to ground him though, gave him the push he needed to stay with it.

“We offered you a position when you first joined us in the 'Gate, and you declined – why should you get a second chance?”

Jason shrugged, and cast a casual eye over the rest of the cell. Redford was watching, but he didn’t seem to involved with what was taking place, happy to let Benson sort it out.

“I'm good,” Jason said, hating the way that felt like a double entendre. “I would prefer to start at the bottom and keep breathing than keep my pride and be gutted.”

“A wise choice. You do realize if I arrange it with the boss, he’s going to make you beg and grovel at his feet – you turned him down and he’s going to have to punish you for that.” Benson smirked at him.

Jason was counting on it. He resisted the feeling of relief that was edging its way though him; he was so close, but there was still far to go. “Just get rid of Thorpe, and I’ll do what’s necessary – although no more. I’m signing up to fight, that’s it.”

Benson took a step further towards him, backing him against the wall. He was way to close and Jason wished they could have waited until yesterday’s close shave was a distant memory before they did this. For a moment he was back there, in the shower room, and he even caught a phantom whiff of Thorpe’s meaty breath. He found himself leaning away from Benson, struggling to prevent a reaction.

Anger, anger would ground him. And it wasn’t hard to feel it bubbling in his gut now the next stage of negotiations was about to begin.

“That’s all well and good, but if you want me to make the arrangements with Redford, you’re going to have to sweeten the pot.” Benson said

_So_ fucking predictable.

“What do you want?” As if he didn’t know.

“Your slut, or are you too attached to it?”

Jason pretended to consider. “I don’t like giving him up, you’re right about that. Don’t like the idea of you fucking him.”

“That’s the deal. I’m going to fuck him in front of you, break him to nothing – you didn’t do that good a job there.”

Jason shrugged, “Toys are no fun when they’re broken.”

“I won’t be keeping it long,” Benson smirked at him. “When I’m done, its dead.”

“Good.” Jason said and Benson barked a laugh.

“Good? I thought you were sentimental.”

“Possessive, not sentimental – if he’s not mine I don’t want him to be anyone’s.”

Benson laughed again, stepping back and allowing Jason room to breathe. “You might do well here after all Foxx, we need more simple, practical men.”

“So its a deal?” Jason asked – he knew it was.

“The terms are these; I will speak to Redford on your behalf in return for your bitch. When - and if - Redford has your problem dealt with you will swear in, whilst putting on a good show for the boss – he likes it when you grovel. Deal?”

“On one condition - I get to keep my punk until I swear in,” Jason said, looking him in the eye.

“Why’s that so important?”

“Sentiment.”

Benson laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “OK, but I want him on his knees when you swear, and if you don’t deliver then I will have you tied to the center table and raped to death, understand?”

“Yeah.” Boy, did he ever.

“Until tomorrow then Foxx.”

Jason nodded his head and strolled out of the cell as fast as he was able to go whilst still keeping his dignity though he kept a close watch for the Machete16 as he hightailed it back to his own cell. That whole scene had made his skin crawl.

Dick was waiting for him, perched on the end of Fahim’s bunk. The old man was shooting him annoyed looks as Dick’s twitching interrupted his reading.

“So?” Dick said before he even reached the bed.

Jason sat casually on his own bunk. No-one was close enough to hear, so long as they kept their voices low. “Deal’s made. As soon as the 'problem' is dealt with, we become part of the Snake – rather briefly in your case I’m afraid.”

Dick made a disgusted face. “Yeah - I’m sure Benson intends my stay to be short and brutal. Lets hope we can pull this off!”

Fahim muttered something about big-headed idiots clearly aimed at Jason, and he had to admit after the fiasco with Thorpe he wasn’t as confident as he had been. Even so, he had faith in his and Dick’s abilities. He had been concerned that Dick would object to the savage and somewhat final nature of his plans, but he showed no doubt or worry over the inevitable casualties. It might just be because of his hate and fear of Benson, or his rage over what had happened with Thorpe, but Jason found that the lack of argument or ‘no killing’ rules made him strangely sad, even though it was in both their best interests.

Jason yawned widely and scrubbed a hand across his eyes as the lack of sleep and the earlier surge of adrenaline suddenly caught up with him. Dick leaned across and touched his knee. “Why don’t you catch a few hours sleep whilst you can – we don’t know when things are going to kick off, so its important you’re at your best.”

Jason yawned again. “Not much chance of that, but I think I will take a nap. You going to keep watch?”

Dick gave him a huge warm smile. “Of course.”

 

Jason slept for an hour or so, and he woke from a light doze to the sound of voices out side the bunk. Dick and Fahim were talking about him, and he woke himself up enough to eavesdrop.

“I’m just worried the boy has bitten off more than he can chew,” Fahim was saying. “The general consensus on the rumor mill is that Thorpe got him - that’s not a good starting point even if you do manage to take down the Snake.”

“it doesn’t matter, we have to try anyway. We don’t have another choice,” Dick said. “I think we can do it.”

“You’ve changed your tune - two days ago you were cursing his name”

“That was then.”

Fahim snorted and muttered to himself for a moment, no doubt cussing about their stupidity and fecklessness. Jason grinned; he had grown fond of the old goat despite himself.

“How about you Pretty Boy? You been getting enough sleep?” Fahim asked.

“Considering the circumstances I’m doing OK. I get strange night-terrors sometimes, although I cant remember what they were when I wake”.

“Not surprising, being in a place like this - it brings out all your demons.” Fahim said.

Dick took a long while to answer. “I don’t know what mine are, I must have them… sometimes I get flashes of stuff but I don’t know what the triggers are, or what the feelings mean.”

Jason felt a flush of guilt - his refusal to tell Dick too much about himself and the life he had led was probably adding to that burden. He reassured himself that it was necessary to keep them both safe, once they were out of here he could be as forthright as Dick wanted.

“Must be tough” Fahim said. “You don’t remember anything? Not even in your dreams?”

Dick paused for a moment. Jason could hear a scratching noise, like he was fiddling with something before he spoke. “I do dream. It’s the same every night,” he said at last.

“Sharing can take a weight off,” Fahim said apparently unperturbed by the uncertainty in Dick’s voice.

Jason was curious and he held his breath as Dick began to speak.

“Its always night, I’m standing high up. looking down on a city. Her lights are bright and cheerful but she feels dense, menacing. Then I jump and the streets are rushing towards me. It feels like time is stretching and the air is beating against my face.” Dick trailed off and Jason heard him sigh.

“Sounds intense,” Fahim said kindly. “Its not an uncommon theme for a dream though, falling. Especially when you feel like you have so little control over your life.”

“You would never have struck me as someone who was knowledgeable about dream interpretation,” Dick said.

“I’ve been here a long time, it is surprising the things you can learn when you are bored enough!”

Dick chuckled. “I can imagine!”

“Generally, falling in a dream is considered a sign of anxiety, feeling a lack of control of events or just the way your life is unfolding.” 

“That’s just it though. It would make sense if it was falling… but its not like that....”

Jason closed his eyes at the reverent tone of his voice. Whilst Dick was lost in the memory of his dream, he sounded almost at peace, but the next words sent a shiver of longing down Jason’s spine.

“...it doesn’t feel like falling, it feels like flying.”


	16. Chapter 16

The following morning, they emerged from their cell to find the battle nearly done. Thorpe was face down on a table, stripped to the waist and awash with blood. There were other bodies littering the floor and the remaining members of the Machete16 were cowering.

It was a gruesome tableau and the pleasure on Redford’s face was visible even at this distance.

“Well,” Jason muttered as they leaned over the railing to survey the damage, “looks like today’s the day.”

Dick took a deep breath. “Why don’t the guards stop this?” he asked.

Fahim gestured vaguely towards the fighting. “This is politics. They break it up, same thing happens again next week. They let us dictate who’s boss, it’s less work for them.”

“And better for us,” Jason added, watching the situation below. He was not afraid to admit that the sight of Thorpe’s corpse pleased him, although he would have preferred to have been the one holding the knife. “You ready for this?” he asked Dick, whose expression seemed to be warring between anticipation and disgust. 

Dick shook himself and straightened. “Born ready, boss man,” he said, cocky and determined. He reached out a fist and Jason bumped it with his own.

“Glad to hear it, soldier boy. Once we get down there, anything could happen. We’re going to have to play it by ear, and that’s going to be dangerous.”

Fahim cleared his throat from beside them, “Are you implying that your plan involves not having a plan?” 

Jason grimaced at him. “It’s hard to plan the specifics, as it depends on what they have planned. We’ve discussed the possibilities and have a few safeguards in place. Mostly, we just have to watch out for an opening.”

“See you boys in hell then!” Fahim said, giving them both a slap on the back.

“Well, that sounds encouraging,” Dick said, rolling his eyes. Jason was already focusing on what was happening below where there was an ominous silence. 

Show time.

“I think you have something for me, Foxx?” Benson's voice called out, breaking through the quiet.

Steeling himself for what was to come, Jason gave Dick an almost imperceptible nod and made a grab for him. 

Dick batted his hand away, “You said you wouldn’t!” he yelled as Jason lunged at him again, “you promised you would protect me!” 

Jason blocked a punch, thankfully not at full strength, and took the opportunity to seize Dick by the hair. Dick was putting on a good show. Jason suspected he had been rehearsing some of the lines he was shouting, as he seemed to be going for maximum drama. No surprise there. Although he was fighting convincingly, he was giving Jason every opportunity to overpower him. 

“You promised! Please!” Dick yelled as Jason started hauling him down the stairs, one arm around his waist and a hand still tangled in his hair.

“Did I?” Jason grunted as he attempted to pries Dick’s fingers off the railings, “I don’t remember that.” 

“You bastard!” Dick attempted to elbow him in the face as Jason dragged him down the last few steps.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Jason asked Benson whilst fending off yet another blow from Dick’s free arm. “Seems more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Nice try, Foxx, but this has been a long time coming. I’m going to teach it a lesson in prison etiquette.”

“No!” Dick squirmed free and made a break for it. The prisoners laughed. As Jason wrestled him back to the center tables he saw excitement and resolve in his eyes. No freak-outs or fuck ups this time; they could do this. 

“It will go easier if you just do what you’re asked,” Jason told him as he pushed him to his knees in front of Benson. Dick sank down, his head bowed. 

Jason stepped back. Immediately, two enforcers approached him and begun to pat him down. Pointless, as he didn’t need weapons to do a shit-load of damage, but he had come unarmed to show his good faith. Satisfied, the goons lead him forward toward Redford, but as he went he couldn’t help keeping one eye on Benson. Benson had pulled Dick’s head up by his hair, and as Jason watched, he struck him around the face with a brutal openhanded slap. Dick’s head snapped to the side and Jason’s jaw clenched as he watched his brother spit blood onto the dirty floor. 

He had to trust Dick to look after himself though. He turned his attention to Redford. The big man looked smug. Jason had watched him deal out cruelty for entertainment. He was number one on the kill list for more than just the fact that it was necessary to get rid of him. Jason prepared himself for whatever humiliation he was going to have to suffer before he saw his window of opportunity. 

As he approached, he made a careful note of where the guards were stationed. He was expecting that there would be more than a few of them, but instead he only saw them at their regular posts. That was rather arrogant of Redford - he obviously thought he wouldn’t need any assistance. More fool him. 

The Snake were crowded close, still flying high from there victory against Machete16. The rest of the prisoners were on the outskirts of the center tables, watching with some degree of trepidation. Shifts in power were dangerous, and the floor was already stained red with blood.

“Redford,” Jason said into the silence, “you've done me a service. All I can offer you in return is my skill at fighting.”

Redford smiled. “And you think that’s it? A nice, neat exchange? It seems to me that’s two favors I’m doing you. Being one of mine gives you perks.”

“I appreciate that.” Jason resisted rolling his eyes. These theatrics were tedious and were playing havoc with his nerves. “But it’s all I have to offer.”

“Hmmm,” Redford said, and smiled to himself. Jason realized that the bastard had no intention of swearing him in. After he had finished playing, he was going to take him out, just to make a statement. Benson must be loving this. Jason turned his head to look at Dick, who had his face pressed against the crotch of Benson’s jumpsuit. The sight sent a rush of prickly rage over Jason’s skin. 

He was considering just kicking Redford in the face and getting the party started when he caught sight of what was in Redford’s hand, partly hidden by his big body.

A zap controller.

It wasn’t arrogance that the guards weren’t here in force; he didn’t fucking need them. If he used that, it was all over. Jason hadn’t planned for this. Ice shot down his spine – if he had just acted, he might have gotten them both killed. Might do anyway if he wasn’t very careful. 

“I’m ready to swear in like a good doggy,” he said loud enough for Dick to hear. It was one of a dozen phrases they had picked out to be used as code for 'Oh Fuck, Think Fast'. Dick had thought it was funny at the time. It didn’t seem so amusing now.

He needed a distraction, just enough to kick the damn thing out of his hand and take him down. 

He cut his eyes to Dick and held his gaze for a brief moment. He tried to convey the gravity of the situation whilst his own mind worked furiously. He needed to figure out every eventuality for every move he made. He needed to think like Batman. 

Things didn’t quite work out that way, though. In only a few moves, Benson and Dick changed the game. Dick’s whole body was radiating defeat. Jason could see different though. The tension in his muscles - he was just waiting to strike. Benson sensed victory and took his cock out of his pants, shoving it towards Dick’s face. Jason stopped pretending not to watch, and turned towards them. The anger already curling in his gut just got hotter when Dick tentatively wrapped his fingers around Benson’s penis.

“Don’t like that do you Foxx?” Redford said, his voice seeming to come from far away. There was a clear note of pleasure in his voice – he was pleased he had just found a weak spot he could exploit. “Don’t like someone else riding your bitch, do you? You’re going to have to watch, though, Foxx. Watch every moment.” 

Seconds were ticking by and the tension was making Jason’s jaw ache. Dick threw him a last quick look, a slow blink – _get ready_ \- and provided the distraction that Jason needed. Dick took Benson’s cock into his mouth, then struggled to get it out again. The watching crowd jeered and pressed forward as Benson used Dick’s hair to force it further in as Dick thrashed and spat. 

Part of Jason knew that Dick could get free if he wanted, that he had chosen to do this, but he couldn’t contain the growl rising up from his chest.

Jason gave up any pretense of thinking like Batman. Instead, he started thinking like Jason Todd – crazy, broken Jason, reacting like a cornered animal.

He launched himself almost without thought, letting his finely honed training and raw instinct carry him. He kicked away the zapper and slammed into Redford in one move. Then his was in motion again, and the rage that was humming through his body carried him round in a tight circle. He kicked away an inmate trying to get to the controller, his momentum spinning Redford to the floor. Ignoring him for the moment, Jason lunged for the zapper, snatching it from under the fingers of an enforcer. 

This should have been done quickly, and he had wasted precious seconds. He threw himself at Redford, who was just getting to his feet. He easily avoided the shank shoved towards his ribs, and they grappled for a long moment. Redford was a huge guy, but he had no real skill, just weight and brute force. Jason twisted the shank free as they tumbled, and drove it into the side of Redford’s unprotected neck. He let him fall and lunged straight for the next guy. He had to take down as many as possible before the guards reacted. 

As his focus cleared, he became aware of howling from Dick’s side of the room. Benson was down, but still breathing, fingers clenching on his knife as he tried to rise. Dick was moving, spinning and fighting. Things were going too fast for Jason to tell if he was using lethal force. But the sight of Benson with his cock still hanging out of his pants brought the red rage back. All the anger from what had happened with Thorpe, from his suspicions of what had happened to Dick, his own miserable fucked up lust, and more distant hazy memories - bitter, hurt, angry things - came together in a swirling miasma of fury.

His thinking brain took a leave of absence and all that was left was the rage. 

 

Things swam back to him slowly. There were low moans from the wounded, and gurgling from the dieing, but there was no shouting, not even any muttering. The silence was deafening despite the background noise. Jason’s hands were sticky with blood, and Benson’s sightless eyes were staring up at him. It was hard to stop looking at them and glance around at the rest of the scene. It took a long moment to work out what he was seeing, but the feeling of vague horror emanating from the watching crowd started to make a lot more sense. 

Nothing like a public castration to make people pay attention to you. 

And shoving the bastard’s genitals into his own mouth was a nice touch.

Jason took a few deep breaths as he stood and looked at the inmates standing around. A few guards were there too, but as usual they were willing to let it get sorted internally, at least now the Snake was down.

“Anyone else feel like challenging me?” Jason asked. Nobody spoke.

Dick’s eyes were wide, shocked. Jason felt a twinge of regret, but he had just done what he had to do. 

“Well then,” he said, surveying the inmates. “If there are no further objections, I will be taking charge of this shit heap. You got something to offer me, talk to my first lieutenant.” He pointed at Fahim, who looked a little ashen in the face of the carnage. 

“And Pretty Boy there is my first enforcer.” He waved a hand at Dick. “Get yourself a jumpsuit, Goldie.” There were some mutterings at that pronouncement. There would be a lot of rumors about making his punk an enforcer, that and the fact that the attack had clearly been planned between the two of them. 

“I’m going to have a chat to the guards and move my shit into my new cell. Do speak up if you got a problem with that.” He made a point of fiddling with the zapper in plain view. It added a new level of security, even though he had no idea how it worked or if he could stop it zapping him as well as his intended target. But he assumed if he didn’t know, they wouldn’t either. 

He snapped his fingers at Dick, who still hadn’t moved. His brother began to pick through the fallen, looking for a jumpsuit that might fit and wasn’t too covered in blood. He suspected that they were going to have one of those long, painful talks in which Jason was supposed to feel bad about all the terrible things he had done. 

But first, he needed to wash his hands and face. He could feel blood caked on his cheek. It flaked and pulled his skin every time he spoke. He was going to come down from the adrenaline soon, too, and he wanted to talk to the guards first.

Jason walked purposely towards the one with the most stripes – he would be in charge.   
He was careful to be rather diffident in his approach. He had to be polite, which would be hard to pull off with blood staining his hands and face, and his teeth starting to chatter in reaction to what he had just done. God, what had he even done? He hadn’t lost control like that in years. On one hand, he felt a little better for it, like his helplessness and rage had been sated. On the other hand, he worked hard to maintain control of himself – if he didn’t, he risked the people he cared for and the people he wanted to protect. He was also pretty sure Dick would be disgusted by him, which in many ways would probably be for the best, but he would still feel the loss. It was not a comfortable thought.

The guard looked at him. Jason didn’t know what the man’s name was, what any of their names were. He looked like a hundred other tough, hardworking guys - thick shoulders, square jaw, cold, cold eyes. He looked like a man, but Jason didn’t know if he was. He didn’t have a clue who or what the Anathema were; they hadn’t bothered to explain themselves.

“Any objections?” he asked as a greeting. The man looked him up and down in disinterest.

“Follow the rules,” he said.

“Will do, but I get to oversee these bastards under you, right? I get to punish and play?”

“You do, but,” the man’s eyes met his, and Jason was unable to prevent a shiver from running down his spine. “Things are going to change. The New Enterprise is gracing us here. You provide the numbers we ask for.” The shiver turned into a cold blast of fear. Numbers were what the guards called the prisoners. He himself was 1678.

“You don’t provide the ones we ask for, or give us any fuss, and we take you first. Let the others fight it out like the animals they are.”

“I hear you,” Jason said, but all he could hear was the sound of trouble heading towards them at full speed. He didn’t know what the New Enterprise was but it sure as shit didn’t sound good. 

“I’ll keep things ship-shape my end if I know I have your support, same deal as the Snake gave you.”

Cold Eyes nodded at him, one sharp movement of the head. The guards stepped away and Jason was left to straighten his spine and harden his heart. They’d got this far – soon they would be free and all of this crap wouldn’t matter anymore.

He just wished he believed that.


	17. Chapter 17

The move to cell two went without further incident. Fahim was sorting out who else would be sharing their accommodation, and the new hierarchy, whilst Jason looked menacing and did his best to pull himself back together. He was anticipating a showdown with Dick, but he wasn’t sure what form it would take– would he be freaked out? Angry? Both?

Showing amazing restraint [in Jason’s opinion] Dick waited until the fuss had died down a bit and they were alone, to shove him against the wall.

Angry, then.

“What the hell Jason?” he snarled. He had a dark bruise forming on his cheek from where Benson had struck him, and more on his jaw from where the fucker had held his face as he attempted to… Jason had to shake away the thought before it overwhelmed him again, but his own anger was bubbling back despite his efforts.

“What?” Jason growled right back. “Bit much for your delicate sensibilities, Golden Boy?”

Dick just gave him a slightly appalled look. “Delicate sensibilities? I just watched my partner cut a man’s dick off and stuff it down his throat! I think I’m allowed to be a bit disturbed! You didn’t even wait until he was dead!” He shuddered. “That was like something they would do.”

“And how any times did that bastard make someone choke on his cock?”

Dick shot him a sharp look. “How is that an excuse for torture?”

“This way it sends a message that I’m not fucking around, and now they know not to touch what’s mine!”

Dick’s eyes narrowed and Jason wished he could bite back that last bit. “What’s yours? Tell me this wasn’t about me?”

“It wasn’t about you.” Even he didn’t believe himself, but it was hard to explain all the things that had helped form his anger and he didn’t want to admit his blackout, his loss of control. “I needed to make an impression, they wont forget now,” he said instead.

“Oh no, don’t think you can make out that was planned - I saw your face, the hate. It was about what I did with Benson, about... what he wanted to do to me.” Dick finished quietly, like it was a secret rather than something the whole fucking jail saw.

It just filled him with such impotent anger – he hadn’t meant for that to happen, he hadn’t wanted Dick to do something so horrible.

Suddenly claustrophobic, he broke Dick’s light hold and reversed their positions, slamming him against the wall more forcefully than he intended. He didn’t want to think about this shit any more, he wanted to punch Dick’s stupid face until the image of him choking on Benson’s cock was banished from the dark places in his mind.

He shut his eyes fighting for calm. He felt adrift - he’d worked so damn hard to maintain control and he wasn’t sure weather to blame Dick, prison or the Anathema for its loss. He had been so intent on moving forward – helping Gotham and the baby bats, finding a way to survive in this shit-hole, finding a way out. He knew if he stood still he would crack open at the seams. Bruce was gone, even the Joker was dead – gassed along with the rest of Arkham – all the things that gave him drive except for Gotham herself, were _gone_. He was all that was left, and keeping a strong check on his emotions was a huge part of his coping mechanism.

He was torn from his thoughts by a gentle hand on his face. He didn’t remember letting go of Dick’s wrists nor bringing their foreheads together and screwing up his eyes.

His mind felt full of holes.

“What were we to each other that you would do something so awful to protect me?” Dick asked.

_Enemies, rivals, family_. Dick couldn’t understand their relationship with his brain turned to mush, and couldn’t understand the lack of conscious thought that went into what he had done.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. He wished Dick would just leave it, maybe punch him and storm off. But he wouldn’t, because under the blank slate his mind had become, he was still Dick Grayson.

“It matters to me.” Dick’s hands were on his face again. “Jason? Please Jay, I need to understand this.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Jason said shaking him off. “We are what we are _now_ , that’s what matters.” God his voice sounded broken. This had been a shitty week and he was on he edge of losing it again. The weird expression on Dick’s face wasn’t helping any - it was a mix of frustration, pity and hope. Jason knew what he was thinking, he had even encouraged it; he thought there was a close relationship between them, or had been, and the fact his hands had crept back into Jason’s space started to take on a new meaning. His brother crushing on him was the absolute last thing he needed, he may have had a fucked up way of looking at his pseudo family that involved very inappropriate lust, but Dick certainly didn’t and it could only end in tears… and possibly Jason’s blood if Dick’s memory ever returned.

“Just promise me you wont do anything like that again, OK?” Dick said, breaking him from his thoughts. “Please Jason?”

Jason’s jaw tightened as that goddamn image flashed through his mind again “I can’t promise that,” he said, his voice lowering to a growl. “I won’t promise it – men like that deserve what they get, they make a choice and they have to deal with the consequences.”

“But-”

“There’s no 'but' here Dick, and if you want to be my enforcer you’re going to have to beat the crap out of shit-stains like that, understand? You are going to have to act not just with violence but nastiness, meanness – or nobody will take us seriously. We’ll end up just like Redford and Thorpe.”

Dick didn’t look happy, but he nodded. He wasn’t stupid and it was obvious that this was going to be the way of things.

“It’s going to be weird not being your bitch anymore,” he sent Jason a small grin and Jason knew even if he hadn’t been forgiven - he would be.

“Nah, you’re going up in the world, now you're gonna be my lover.”

Dick blinked at him, and a slight flush rose on his cheeks.

Jason smirked. “We need to commandeer 3 bunks, and I need an excuse.” That and the fact he had gotten used to the comfort of a warm body next to him.

“People are going to be very confused about this whole thing.”

“Like I give a shit.” Jason took a long look at his brother - he looked like crap.

There was an uneasy pause, Dick was staring into space and Jason struggled for the right thing to say. “So how are you feeling?” he tried awkwardly.

“Fine.” Dick said unconvincingly.

“Fine? You sure about that? You don’t look fine.”

“I’m not hurt, I’m OK.”

“You were just forced to publicly give head to a guy who wanted to torture you to death, and you’re feeling fine.” Jason tried to rein in his temper but his frustration was threatening to get the better of him, _again_.

“Jason, he didn’t force me, I made a choice, I decided. I'm not a victim.”

“Did you like it?” He probably could have worded that better – but he felt such helpless frustration and Dick was the only person within range.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” Dick growled at him.

“I just mean that just because it was your choice it doesn’t mean you don’t feel shit about it. It’s OK to feel shit about it.”

“And suddenly you’re Mr. Feelings?”

“Yeah, just call me Dr Phil.”

“I don’t remember Dr Phil…” Dick leant against him, avoiding his eyes. “I felt nothing, blank, like there was nothing left inside me. I fell away from myself.”

“He could have killed you.” God with Dick zoned out they could have both been killed.

Dick shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “My body came back before my brain; it reacted, lashed out. It was so familiar, like something that was part of me, so I felt safe and came back…” he trailed off.

“Not being funny Dickie, but that was fucking stupid – do you have any idea what could have happened?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, they had been so goddamn lucky. He was going to have to keep a close eye on things, that zoning out shit could make Dick, and by extension, himself, very vulnerable.

 

They had allowed a total of 12 other people in their cell, all hand picked and grateful to be there. Jason would have to find out every bit of info on them to make sure they stayed in line, but between Dick and Fahim that shouldn’t be too hard. 

He held a very threatening version of a meet and greet before he shooed the other inmates out - so he could indulge in some 'alone time' with Dick. Once they were alone, they set about dragging their new bunks to the position they wanted.

“I’m still not too clear on the actual plan now we’re here,” Dick grunted as they heaved the heavy bed frames across the floor.

“Ever seen the Shawshank Redemption?” Jason asked. Dick just gave him a long, irritated look.

“Right, can’t remember. The Great Escape?”

“Jason!”

“You’d think some classic cinema would have stuck in your brain, but I guess not.” Jason said.

“This isn’t helping!”

“There’s a tunnel – at least Fahim tells me there is – already dug, but the would-be escapees died before it was finished and Fahim didn’t want to go alone.”

Dick shoved the bunk against the wall and wiped sweat from his face. “Do you trust him?”

“Fahim? I guess. I mean, I trust the fact he doesn’t want to die, and getting out is the only way to avoid that right now.”

Dick stripped his jumpsuit to his waist - it was hot work and Jason had folded his down straight away. Dick seemed to be enjoying having clothes other than his boxers and had hung onto it as long as he could. Jason found he couldn’t stop looking at the tattoo – it had been on display the whole time but somehow it drew his eye more now. Seeing it peek over the top of the rolled down jumpsuit sent jolt of warmth through him.

“So when we do leave, where will we go?” Dick asked and Jason had to tear his eyes away.

“Home.”

“And where is home?” Dick asked as they set about moving the second bunk – it wasn’t any easier to shift than the first one had been.

“Gotham,” Jason grunted. His shoulder was complaining bitterly and he suspected he had wrenched it during the fight.

“Gotham? Really?” Dick sounded disappointed. “I’ve not heard a single nice thing about that place, not one.”

“It’s a shit heap, but it’s where you live - lived.”

“Sounds charming.”

Jason snorted. “Charming isn’t an adjective I’ve ever heard used to describe it.”

They finally had all three bunks in position, making a big sleeping area. Jason surveyed their handiwork as Dick crawled onto the bunks. “I hardly know what to do with all this space!” he said, flopping down on his back. “When do we check out the tunnel?”

“Tomorrow night, when things have died down a bit.” Jason sunk down on the bunk and he winced as he rotated his sore shoulder, the motion making his back twinge too.

“Are you hurt?” Dick asked. “I hardly got a scratch during the whole thing.” He shuffled round and touched Jason’s shoulder. “I can try to ease out the kinks for you, if you want?”

“Dick, you don’t remember some of the best films of the past fifty years, do you expect me to believe you remember how to give a therapeutic massage?”

“I was just going to guess. It can’t be that hard, right?”

Jason sighed. “You're going to nag me until I say yes, aren’t you?”

Dick rested his chin on Jason’s good shoulder. “Yep.”

Jason huffed and swung himself face-down onto the bunk, laying his cheek on his arm and shutting his eyes. “Break me and I will make you regret it, pretty boy.”

Dick shifted until he was straddling Jason’s hips and whoa, he really didn’t think this through. His doubts went out the window though, as Dick’s talented fingers dug into his aching muscles – either he was a complete natural genius at this [possible] or some part of his mind remembered the action and it filtered back as he did it. Jason felt himself melting under the touch. It hurt as Dick massaged the knots from the muscles around his shoulder blade, but it was a sweet kind of pain that resulted in a wonderful ease in tension.

“Ok, Jay?” Dick asked softly

Jason made a pleased noise - in truth he felt better than OK, like he was gathering back pieces of his scattered self. Dick worked quietly and thoroughly, his touch either firm or soothing. It was sensual but not sexual and Jason had never felt so at ease with his older brother. All the tension and the fear from the days events fell away as he drifted into the first relaxed sleep he he’d had in months.


	18. Chapter 18

It was two days before things had calmed enough to check out the tunnel. In the meantime, Jason found himself enjoying his new status. He got more food and a lot less hassle. He suspected Dick was also enjoying himself. He was definitely liking the fact that he could wear clothes, and was always in a t-shirt and a jumpsuit when he was out of the cell. 

Although Jason had been worried about whether Dick would be able to hold his own when people inevitably challenged him – he had no doubt about his ability to beat the crap out of them, it was more concern over whether he could do it with enough nastiness to discourage others - it turned out he had nothing to worry about. When Harris, one of the cell bosses, made some rather rude comments about Dick’s pretty mouth and combined that with a grab for his behind, Dick broke his fingers. Slowly. 

A punk becoming an enforcer seemed to screw with prison politics, and it took more than one lesson to get the message across. Jason had to admit he was a little turned on by the expression on Dick’s face as he meted out punishment. He looked like he was kind of enjoying it, and Jason didn’t think he was faking either. As long as it stayed within certain parameters, it wasn’t that different from taking down a would-be rapist or stopping an armed robbery with nothing but fists and feet. They were both violent people, and as he had told Dick previously, the satisfaction and power that went with that was addictive, gave them a rush like sex or drugs. Dick seemed to be rediscovering that about himself, but in typical Grayson style. Afterwards, he always seemed doubtful, like he was doing something wrong. 

Jason left him to it. He had other things to worry about, like escape, and the new Enterprise. He still didn’t know what it was, but there was a buzz of what he would tentatively call excitement amongst the guards and that was never a good thing. He and Fahim did their best to ask around, but they didn’t have much joy. 

Jason was happy to note some of the guards were now on his 'payroll', but he was less than pleased to discover that the payment they expected was generally sexual in nature. Now that was a fucking nightmare, and he found much of his time was taken up with thinking about it. If it had been _before_ , it would have been money or drugs, but here, their money meant nothing. All they had was themselves – or in this case, other people. If he refused to allow it to carry on, he would lose the contacts and probably his position. If he let it continue he would be complicit in systematic sexual abuse and rape. Fuck complicit, he would be facilitating it. He couldn’t even pretend it would be for the greater good; it was just so he, Dick and Fahim could escape. But he couldn’t stay here; he had to get back to Gotham, and he couldn’t let the creepy medics get at Dick again. 

He knew what he was going to do, he just wasn’t sure if he could live with it. 

That was the first major problem with the new set up. The second presented itself on the third night, when he and Dick carefully removed the mattress and board to give access to the tunnel beneath the floor. They peeled up the tiles, as Fahim had directed them, until a dark space was revealed. The sight of it sent a shot of hopeful excitement though him, and Dick's grin was visible even in the dim light. It was a small space; it would give Jason’s shoulders some trouble, but he could manage. Dick slid down into the hole, only to pop back up two minuets later. 

“It's blocked,” he whispered harshly. “I can’t tell how far back it goes.”

Jason gestured for him to get up and lowered himself down. He winced at the point it narrowed and started to constrict his movement. He had very carefully not been thinking about the dark, enclosed space. He really wasn’t a fan. On his knees, he felt forward with his fingers. Sure enough, rubble was piled the whole width of the space, but that was all he could tell without a light. Crap. 

“I’m going to kill that old goat!” Jason snarled.

“Lets not kill anybody yet. The tunnel is here, just like he said. It's been a long time since it was made; it might just be a little blockage.”

“A little blockage is still a big problem! I'm going to kill him.”

Jason didn’t kill him. Instead, he made do with bundling Fahim out of bed and stuffing him down the hole armed with his plastic lighter. After 10 minutes of waiting, Fahim assured them he had made a thorough inspection. Dick helped him back out, although Jason was all for keeping him down there until he dug them out or died trying. Dick rolled his eyes and ignored his grumbling. Then they put the floor and the mattress back and held a war council. 

“It goes back a bit, but not too far, I think. We could clear it in a few days if we had somewhere to put the rubble,” Fahim said.

“How did you do it last time?” Dick asked.

“Smuggled it into the yard.”

Jason snorted. “Just like every prison break movie ever. Got to love the classics.”

“But it leaves us with a problem,” Dick said. “We don’t have yard time, so what the hell do we do with it?” 

There was a long, unhappy pause.

“We're going to have to hide it,” Jason said at last, “anywhere we can, a bit at a time.”

“That’ll take too long!” Dick hissed.

“It’s no good if we clog up the plumbing, make it obvious. It has to be in small amounts or it will be a lot worse than delaying us for a week or two.”

“That’s what you think,” Dick said ominously, but he nodded his head. There wasn’t any other choice. 

“Right, then we start digging it out-”

“There is another problem,” Fahim interrupted. “We have to be careful as we evacuate it – we do not want it to collapse on us. We have to go very slowly.”

Dick groaned and huffed, but the old man had a point.

“Fine, we start tomorrow. Fahim, get out of my bed.”

Fahim got up, and Dick flopped down on the threadbare pillow, not even bothering to pull off his shirt. 

Their bunk was now big enough to comfortably accommodate the two of them, but Dick still slept next to him, sometimes half on top of him. Jason had long since given up trying to disentangle himself, and he had gotten used to the strangeness of sharing his personal space. 

They lay in silence and Jason felt himself drifting.

“Jay?” 

“Hmm?” Jason grunted, coming back from the edge of sleep.

“Before, when you used to know me, was I often afraid?”

Jason blinked himself fully awake. “Everyone's afraid sometimes.” 

“Was I afraid to die?”

“Probably, Jason said. “You weren’t afraid to risk your life, but you also wanted to live. Most people are scared of death.” He paused for a moment as an involuntary shudder ran through him. “I sure as shit am. Done that once, not keen on a repeat.”

“A near death experience?” Dick asked.

Jason didn’t feel much like explaining Lazarus pits and the back from the dead stuff, so he just nodded. “Something like that.”

“I’m more afraid of them taking me back to that place than I am of dying,” Dick said into the silence. 

“It won’t happen, even if the plan is a bit fucked.”

“Is it though? Maybe it’s just a setback.” Dick did not sound like he was even convincing himself.

“Well, it’s full of fucking rubble and rocks, but I’m going to make it work,” Jason said, trying to inject all the confidence he didn’t feel into his voice. 

After a moment, Dick got this slightly soppy look on his face and Jason held up a hand before he could speak. “No, Dick. Whatever sappy shit you’re about to say, can it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything like that,” Dick said indignantly.

“Yes, you were. I know that look, and I know that brain. It’s full of stupid puns, sap, and clichés.” He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “Oh god, do I know what you were going to say.”

“Do not.” Dick was actually pouting, but Jason suspected it was partly put on for his benefit.

“Do too. You were going to go for ‘but you’re my rock’ or some stupid crap in that vein.”

Dick looked offended, but then broke into a huge grin. “You really do know me, Jaybird!” he said, and Jason felt the hair on his arms stand on end.

“It's not sappy, it's true!” Dick carried on, oblivious. “We’re all we’ve got right now. It’s important that we’re strong for each other. Hence, the rock thing, although it is a bit of a stupid metaphor in some ways, because-”

Jason blocked the rest of the blabber out. He debated about bringing it up, that something might be slipping back, but in the end he decided to let it go. It could have been a coincidence. What was bothering him was the fact that he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to happen or not. If Dick was coming back to himself, what did that mean for their partnership? What did it mean for their tentative friendship? He _liked_ this Dick. 

“Jay?”

“Yeah?” He shook himself, trying to replay what Dick had been talking about. His brother was looking at him with wide eyes, and his expression was soft, affectionate. Maybe it would be better if he remembered who he was, remembered how much they disliked each other. 

“Do I have any friends? Did I, when I was real me?” Dick asked.

“You had lots of friends. Don’t know where they are now, though, so not much point in dwelling on it.” 

Dick nodded. “Any relationships? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?” 

This was obviously heading into territory that was going to get him in trouble. He should nip this shit in the bud. He could tell Dick they were ‘brothers’. That would maintain their relationship but distance him from this intense stuff. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. Instead, he just shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve had girlfriends - hot, smart, kickass ones. Not sure how you managed that, but you have good taste in woman, and they have poor taste in men.”

It broke the tension, and Dick whacked him upside the head. “I’m sure I was a great catch! I still am, except for the being in prison part.”

Jason huffed out a laugh. “Will you shut up and go to sleep?”

“All joking aside,” Dick's voice was still warm, but he sounded dead serious, “thank you. I know it’s been a bumpy ride, but I am glad I met you – re-met you, whatever.”

“Plenty of time to weep in each others arms and exchange friendship bracelets when we’re out of here.” 

Dick pressed his lips to his bare shoulder, and Jason tried very hard not to notice.

“I hope we can still get out, but Jason, the tunnel is blocked. I know we can get free, I hope we can, but I would rather put a bullet through my brain than let them have me again,” Dick said. He looked fierce, and Jason didn’t doubt him for a second.

“Dick, from what you’ve said, and from what I've guessed, you escaped from them. They didn’t just send you here. You kept saying they knew what you had done.” Jason wasn’t sure he was ready to hear this story, but he was certain he needed too. 

Dick hunched his shoulders and was quiet for a long time. “My cell mate died, so I dug the chip out of his shoulder and swapped it with mine. He was no good, so they sent him here.” He shuddered. “Except it wasn’t him, it was me. When they find out, they'll take me back.” 

Jason felt anger and pity, his usual feelings when Dick spoke about his time with the medics, but for once rage wasn’t his main emotion. Dick had just given him a solution to getting out. The chips were the biggest stumbling block, as they picked up vital signs, but if they were swiftly transferred to a living body…it could work. It would be messy as fuck, but it could work.

“How did he die, so they didn’t notice you had gone digging in his shoulder? And how long was the chip out of his body before it went into yours?”

“The transfer was quick; it wasn’t out of the body for more than a few moments. I made it look like we fought. I had to cut him up a bit to hide what I had done.”

Jason had a sudden shiver of doubt. 'Had to cut him up a bit' did not sound like something Dick would say, and his demeanor had changed to something shifty and hunched. Maybe it was because he was talking about something traumatic, but it could also be interpreted as guilt. Just the fact that he had to consider that Dick might have killed his cellmate in order to escape was terrifying. He might have been projecting, though. Maybe his own doubts about the people he was sacrificing for his own escape plans, the parts of his own integrity he was tearing to shreds, was affecting how he saw Dick and his predicament.

So he just nodded and ran a soothing hand down his brother’s back. “Not going to happen. We're getting out, going home and finding a way to ice these sons of bitches.” 

“You say the nicest things to me.” Dick grinned against his skin, his mood noticeably lighter. “Don’t forget you’re going to tell me all there is to know about me.”

“That’s one hell of a sordid tale, Dickie-bird.”

“Even better.” 

Dick did his usual ritual of arranging Jason’s limbs so they made a comfy pillow/foot rest/prop for him – something Jason had long given up fighting, and settled beside him. Jason ruthlessly crushed the traitorous feeling of contentment that crept though his chest. 

_Very bad form Todd, very bad…_

 

Of course the Anathema had to go and make a liar of him that night. Hours after midnight, the main light in their cell came on and Cold Eyes, flanked by two guards, threw back the privacy sheet, making Jason start out of sleep and nearly elbow Dick's teeth out.

“Doing this now is a courtesy,” Cold Eyes said. “You should respect that.”

“The hell is going on?” Jason said. He could feel Dick's panic, and he had a sinking feeling in his gut. For all his big talk, if they wanted to take him, there was fuck all Jason could do about it. 

“Numbers for testing. You have control, so we start here, whilst the others are locked down.” 

“Ok.” What else could he say? He heard Dick suck in a breath behind him and felt like a complete heel, but he was stuck. 

Cold Eyes nodded, pleased. He turned to the guards and rattled off some numbers. They set about removing the confused inmates from the cells. When that was done, Cold Eyes turned to him. “And 1678,” he said. It took a long moment of confusion for Jason to realize that that was him, not Dick. 

He wasn’t expecting that. Neither was Dick, apparently, and he practically jumped out of his skin when Jason made to stand.

“Jay, don’t,” he whispered.

Jason did his best to give him a reassuring look. “Got to. You look after things in here, Pretty Boy. You're in charge.” He let the guards lead him away, giving Fahim a nod as he passed. 

He was fairly sure this was going to be extremely unpleasant.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter has brief descriptions of child abuse, gore and moderately graphic implications of non-con. If you would prefer a summery of this chapter or a copy with any of those scenes omitted, just let me know!

 

He was led through the corridor to a sterile room filled with big computer screens, lots of little lights and scary machines - pretty much what he had been expecting. As Cold Eyes led him towards a big freaky chair – something reminiscent of a medieval torture device crossed with office furniture - he really wished he had the option to run. Sadly that wasn’t on the cards, so instead he sat as directed, leaning back as a guy in overalls strapped him down. 

After an eternity of waiting, spent pretending he wasn’t crapping himself, a stern faced woman sat beside him and started typing on her electronic pad.

“Hi,” Jason tried, annoyed at her disinterest in him. It had been said he had no sense of self preservation when he was pissed off or scared, and up to now he had disagreed – but he just couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut even if it was probably best for him if she continued to ignore him.

“Quiet,” she said frostily, not even looking at him.

“Hey, just trying to start conversation” he gave her a friendly leer – the sort Dick used to give to Babs just before she punched him. “Been a while since I got to talk to a woman.”

Frosty turned pale eyes on him. She still looked blank, but he couldn’t help feeling his attitude had surprised her – or perhaps disgusted her, it was hard to tell. “I am not one of _your_ women,” she said in the same cold tones.

“Ok,” Jason said amicably, “what shall I call you then?”

“Master.”

“Right-o.” Despite the fact he had grown up with the worst of Gotham, with power hungry sociopaths and violent murderers, her frigid stare chilled him to his core.

Then she pulled out a fuck-off huge needle and he cringed.

Having been trained by the Bat and some of the most fucked up individuals around, he really shouldn’t have a thing about needles. But he did.

He _really_ disliked them.

She drew blood and passed it to a intern who wasn’t as blank faced as the rest of them, and there was an edge of hero worship as she accepted the vial from Frosty – the first actual complicated emotion he had seen from any of the Anathema.

After an age of her typing and looking at him like he was a bit of slime under a microscope, she started slapping electrodes all over him. As she turned away and tapped something into the computer and he felt the base of his neck get warm, and he realized that she was accessing the chip he had under his skin. He tried to remember where the warmth was coming from, something that might prove useful in the future.

“Ok,” Frosty said, her voice still as disinterested as ever. “Stage one.”

...And then he was somewhere else; the world flickered and...

_Damn he had to get home! He was gonna be in so much trouble! He darted down Gilford street, took a shot cut across the old parking lot, familiar shapes of burnt out cars and old crates. He vaulted over the cut in the fence and made for their dirty apartment. It wasn't much but it was dry and sometimes warm._

_His mom didn’t look so good; her left was eye swollen, his dad was in the joint again and Carl Russel had been staying more nights than not. Looking up from his bottle old Carl took a swing at him, but Jason dodged and ran to his room._

_“Little fucker,” he heard Carl say. “One day gonna teach that brat his place.”_

_Jason spat out the side of his mouth like his old man did, and pulled the bits of wire and circuitry from his pocket. He was going try and fix one of the keys that opened car doors – why jimmy the lock when you could just open it? He was too small to drive the things, but he could get in with the guys that could, make enough money for his mom._

Things flicked.

_It hurt so much to breath, he reckoned something was broken in his chest, old Carl had his face and the other guys were laughing._

_“Open your mouth shithead.” Carl said, and then he was choking and he wasn’t never going to forget that taste, and the feel of the fingers on his face._

_That was the night he decided old Carl had to die._

He had to get home!

Wait.

_He was in the bat cave watching Bruce warm up. He’d never had much truck with love; he had loved his mom, most of the time, and Pedro the cat  - the mangy old fleabag had lived upstairs, it used to crawl in through his window and sit on his knee in the summer. He had liked that._

_But he thought he might love Bruce. He hadn’t trusted him at first, damn, it was dumb as fuck to trust anybody who offered you something for nothing. But Bruce had never called in the debt and the first time he flew above the city? He would have given him anything._

_He felt more free and more powerful than he ever had before, never felt so safe either, with the solid presence of the Bat beside him._

_It was the best he had ever been, even better than when he watched old Carl choke to death after drinking his laced whisky._

Flicker, flicker…

_It had been a bad night. A really bad night. He wasn’t going to cry in front of Batman -  he wasn’t! Bruce growled at him as they got changed and Jason threw his pixy boots right at his head. Batman deflected them of course and Jason ran._

_He didn’t go far though. He had to know how mad Bruce was, if he was going to be chucked out. As he watched Nightwing come zooming in on his bike, he flew off the seat and straight at Bruce, shoving him in the chest. Nobody did shit like that to the Batman except Dick._

_“How could you let him see that!” Dick was shouting, “He’s just a kid!”_

_“So are you,” Bruce grunted at Nightwing, shoving him out the way and heading for the showers._

_“I haven’t been a kid in a very long time Bruce! You saw to that!”_

_This was going to be bad, and Jason held his breath. Part of him wanted Batman to chuck Nightwing out – he wanted to be the person Bruce loved the most, another part just wanted them to be ok._

_“Bruce!” Dick was yelling. “Bruce! I don’t care what you do, but please listen to me, for the boy’s sake!”_

_Batman ignored him._

_“When you have to deal with something so awful, he needs to be more than just your partner, he needs to be your son too. He’s not mad at you, he’s hurt by what he saw there!”_

_“Get out Dick.”_

_Dick snarled like an angry cat but he got out. Jason resented his interference - it made him sound weak!_

_But later when Bruce came to his room and lay a big hand on his shoulder and he pretended to be asleep as the Batman drew him closer and told him he did good. Weakness didn’t matter in that moment - he felt safe under Bruce’s hand. They were very  alike in some ways, he couldn’t accept love ‘awake’ and Bruce couldn’t give it. Like this though, he knew this was the best thing that would ever happen to him._

_Squeezing his shoulder, Bruce whispered, “Pleasant dreams, son” and Jason’s heart swelled._

There was a noise trying to break free of Jason’s teeth, a whining excuse for a scream.

_He could hear his bones breaking, shattering, each blow was a distant agony. For a moment he had felt brave, now he was just desperate. But as he felt something rupture in his chest, as he realized help wasn’t coming, he remembered the feel of the cat on his knee, the warm whisky scented hugs his other mom had given him, Nightwing’s gentle ribbing, Bruce’s comforting arms around him._

_And flying. He remembered that even as his bones shattered and hope spun away from him in a blast that shook the foundations of all the people he had known and loved._

Then...

_Then there had been something strangely blank. Things had happened to his body that had no impact on his mind. He saw himself in his own grave, scrabbling at the coffin, suffocating, trapped, he felt nothing but animal-like fear and a sense of wrong that he had never quite shaken off._

Then...

_Fighting._

_White, white, bright._

Someone was rifling through his brain like it was a filing cabinet. Plucking out bits at will.

_Talia._

_Batman_

_Fighting, bombs, Dick, more fighting,_

_Anathema._

_Prison.  Dick._

 

“Hmm,” Frosty said.

Jason’s eyes sprung open. “Fuck!” He blinked, and felt sick.

“You can go,” Frosty said, her voice as distant as before, but Jason had never felt so violated. Never. He was shocked into immobility, consumed with rage, and as soon as they undid his shackles he punched her right in her disinterested face. He was restrained with in seconds but he was almost spitting with anger.

“You will have to be punished for that,” Frosty said, rubbing her jaw. “Put him out.”

When he woke he was in a single cell, and a guard came to grab him and drag him back to the main prison. He went, unsure of himself; unsure how long he had been away.

He wasn’t sure he could keep from screaming and lashing out, and he had more than an inkling about what Dick feared about this shit.

His guard smirked at him as he shoved him through the gate. Jason felt trepidation slither up his spine like a snake, and he moved carefully towards the low din, the noise growing louder as he got closer.

First he saw Fahim, his body at least, hauled up between the bars of cell 1, congealed blood still dripping from his scraggly beard in sad dribbles. He pushed inmates out of the way, Peter was there, he knew Peter, he had helped Peter – the bastard owed him.

“Where!” Jason barked at him.

“Sorry Jase,” Peter spluttered, “Sorry. He wouldn’t go down, so they zapped him. I said you’d be back but they wouldn’t listen. Sorry Jace, there weren’t anything I could do.”

Jason could already taste the bile. If they had zapped Dick he would have been defenseless, alone.

He pushed through the crowed. There was a lot of people, but the chaos was centered around Harrison, over by the center tables. _His_ tables. Jason’s height gave him some advantage and he could see Harrison had a bloody nose, but he was grinning, and it didn’t take much to guess what he was doing, or who he was doing it to.  Jason wanted to scream, and he didn’t remember the next few minutes as he broke Harrison, broke him like twigs, slashed and beat the other men, until it was just him and his brother. Dick was facedown over the table, Jason couldn’t tell if he was breathing under all the blood; it was smeared over his thighs and buttocks, seeping across the table from under his stupid shaggy hair.  He was painted in bruises and Jason didn’t know how they were going to deal with this.

After a long horrified moment Jason reached over and felt for a pulse, there wasn’t one. Suddenly panicked he flipped Dick over, to attempt CPR, mouth to mouth _anything_ to make him breathe  - and saw someone had cut Dick’s face from cheek to cheek, a rictus smile, like the Joker’s.

It was too much.

Jason vomited, again and again, until his whole body was nothing but pain and horror.

 

“Interesting,” Frosty said, and Jason’s eyes snapped open. He could taste vomit and blood, and he had bitten his lip. He was still strapped to the chair, and had been sick all over himself, and he felt disorientated, disjointed, but he was so relieved that whatever had just happened was not, _probably_ not, reality. It chased away some of the terror in his bones. Each breath he took meant his friends were alive.

“Very interesting.” She was sorting through her data,“I have not seen this before.” She sounded intrigued, almost excited, and she called over others. They all studied whatever was on the screen.

“What could cause a disturbance like that?” one said,

“Perhaps its a fault?”

“No!” Frosty snapped. “I went over it several times; there is a brightness, a light, something new.”

All eyes turned to Jason and he felt fear pour over his body again. He suspected this was only a fraction of what they could do, and he grasped some of what might have made Dick Grayson kill his cellmate in cold blood. He was a rat in a trap.

And they knew everything.

 


	20. Chapter 20

Jason barely remembered being unstrapped from the chair. He had a vague recollection of being stripped of his vomit-soaked shirt and sprayed with a hose, but the next time he really paid attention to his surroundings was when he was outside the main gate back into the prison proper. 

Cold Eyes shook him roughly by the shoulder. “1678,” he said. “Pull yourself together.”

“Jason. I have a name, Jason.” 

“I don’t care,” Cold Eye’s told him, his expression blank and disinterested, “but if you want to maintain leadership for whatever time you have left, you need to appear in control.”

He was right and Jason pulled himself up – he could do this, could fake it; he had done the same thing countless times before. The thought sent memories scuttling through his mind and every one felt like betrayal and guilt. They had really done a fucking number on him.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, thanks.” In this unfocused condition it almost felt like Cold Eye’s was trying to help him. 

He held his head high as he stepped through the gate.

 

Dick was waiting by the cell door – alive, unhurt. The confused rush of emotion made Jason feel like he was going to puke again and he ignored Dick as he greeted his other cellies, said a few words about how tired he was and ducked under the privacy sheet on their bunk. 

The two minutes since he walked in felt like hours. 

Dick slid in beside him, his eyes wide and dark in the poor light. 

“Jason, you ok?”

It wasn’t really a question - of all people, Dick knew he was as far as fucking possible from ok. He felt like someone had gone through his subconscious with a plow, dug up all the dirt and left him wide, wide open. 

He buried his face in the thin pillow and struggled to keep hold of himself. When he felt Dick’s arms wrap around him and pull him close he didn’t shrug him off, and he didn’t bat away the cool fingers smoothing back his hair, or the warm lips that pressed against his forehead. Each touch meant what he had seen hadn’t happened, and gave him a little reality back.

Slowly some off the shaking terror slipped away, although he suspected the knot of fear in his gut wouldn’t fully dissipate until they were far, far away from here.

“Are you hurt Jay?” Dick said, his voice soft as feathers. “Any physical hurt?”

“Nah,” Jason croaked. “Just fucked in the head.”

Dick snorted, “Yeah.”

“You should have warned me they could do that – make things seem real when they aren’t.”

“I hoped it wasn’t relevant.” Dick sounded wooden, hopeless.

“It _was_ fucking relevant.” Jason couldn’t hold back a shudder.

“You took longer than the rest, I thought something had happened.” Dick said after a moment.

“Something did happen - they liked what they saw, and went over it again and again until I wanted to scream.” Jason sucked in a deep breath and turned to face his brother. “We need out of here, quick.”

“No kidding.” 

They were almost nose to nose but Jason shut his eyes, and his fingers had somehow crept to Dick’s face, tracing the lines of the phantom slashes that had torn his skin. Dick turned his head and kissed his fingers and despite his misgivings, Jason didn’t object when he felt lips press against his own. There was nothing sexual in the gesture - it was all chaste, needy comfort - and for a second Jason pushed into it. He wanted the connection, the grounding reality of touch, and the gentle warmth of Dick’s mouth gave him that for one, slow, moment. 

He knew he was opening a door that it would be hard to close, and he knew it was one he damn well _had_ to close, for both their sakes, but in those few seconds of tenderness he felt something in his chest unwind. Dick was alive and his breath was on Jason’s skin, that meant Jason was alive, alive and in control of himself. 

He knew he would regret it, but it gave him strength to push the horror from his mind - tomorrow he would get up, they would work on moving rubble from the tunnel and getting out. In the meantime he would run the prison and Dick would beat up on folk for him. 

Situation normal. 

He just wished his brain didn’t feel like it had been in a meat grinder.

 

“How bad was it?” Dick breathed, and Jason knew he was prepared for the worst.

He took a long moment to think it though. It felt odd to share this shit, but he had a feeling it was that or combust from the stress. “They showed me bad stuff from my past, then they created a reality that wasn’t.” He sucked in a tight breath, his eyes opening wide despite himself, “They created a nightmare, _my_ nightmare.”

“That’s what they do,” Dick said, his face pained. “They take your past, your fear, and they twist it every which way until you want to die. Even when you’ve forgotten the original incident there are ten new ones to take its place.”

“Why? That’s what I don’t get.”

Dick shrugged. “They do it until these nothing left of you, until you end up like me or worse, and they keep at it until it doesn’t work anymore.”

That caught hold of Jason’s frantic thoughts and tugged them to a halt. “Doesn’t work anymore? Why would it stop working unless-” 

Dick avoided his gaze.

“You have a way to fuck with their mind games? Tell what’s real?” Jason asked. That could be their saving grace, they might even be able to use it. And if anyone could have beat that mind reading machine it would be someone trained by the Bat.

“No, you have to promise not to try!” Dick all but snarled at him. “They don’t like it when you do that.”

Jason shifted to look him in the eye. “You found a way to subvert their system didn’t you? To recognize when it wasn’t reality?”

“You don’t want to do that - trust me you don’t!” 

Dick buried his face into Jason’s neck – he was shaking, it seemed to be a mix of fear and anger.

“Why not?” he asked. He knew it was going to be painful, but he had to be certain of his position - he needed as much information as he could get, as they could get, even if it hurt.

“They twist your mind.” Dick began haltingly, “I learnt to tell the difference. When they constructed a reality for me I knew – but it didn’t take long for them to realize something had changed. It’s hard to control your breathing and heart rate even when you know what they are putting you though is fake.”

Jason had known this conversation would happen at some point, and he had hoped he would be able get through his own discomfort on the subject to be strong for his brother, at the very least. But he didn’t feel strong - he felt like he wanted to lash out, like if he stopped Dick speaking the words then they wouldn’t be true. 

Dick looked so miserable that Jason found his fingers cupping his face. “What did they do when they found out?”

“They knew my weaknesses, my most deep seated fears, so they got their hands dirty, did the things they did in the Mind Place for real.” He swallowed, eyes closed as his throat worked. “I had to watch them torture and kill people I had befriended, and the worst thing was I knew it was real. Even after all the horror I had seen that wasn’t, this time I _knew_.”

Jason petted his hair, and he tried to stop thinking about the implications for him and Dick. By working together, they had shown themselves to be each other’s weak spots, and he was sure the Anathema wouldn’t hesitate to use them against each other. 

“They hurt those people,” Dick continued. “They hurt people I had never even met. And they hurt me. They recreated some of my nightmares – I don’t even remember the original incident or fear, but I remember what they did.” Dick tucked himself close to Jason’s chest. “There was no anger,” he continued, “no lust, no pleasure in the pain they were causing - none of the things Benson or Mordden felt - just cold methodical, calculation. I tried everything from fighting, to begging. I even tried to use seduction. Nothing.”

“And you were trapped there until your cellmate…died.” Jason said into the soft silence.

And there it was again, that flicker of guilt. Dick had killed that man to save his own skin, Jason was sure of it – and that fucked with his worldview more than anything else in these hellish six months. If they could drive Dick Grayson to such an act, then he had no hope against them. Jason considered himself one of the most stubborn and focused people he knew, but Dick could out stubborn the Bat. Trained from childhood, brainwashed into believing Bruce’s rhetoric. The thought of him doing something like that was downright terrifying. 

For one ridiculous moment Jason wished Batman would crash into the prison and rescue them, and what the hell fucked up thought was that? He wasn’t some civilian to need rescuing, and he wasn’t beaten or broken. This shit wasn’t over yet. 

He thought of the things that had been skipped over, the context of the things the Anathema had dredged up from his past – he had killed Carl, he had put bad guys away and taken them off the streets; saved people, saved _himself_. 

Then he thought about Dick - of what he had gone through as a kid. They had both been child soldiers, but the way they dealt with it was as different as night to day, though just as connected. 

The Anathema’s rifling through his brain had pulled up memories of Dick defending him, of Dick fighting with Bruce over him. He had seen those events through the eyes of a child but it was clear in retrospect that Dick was not as under the Bat’s thumb as he had always thought. At the very least he stood up to him when he felt he was wrong. Jason wondered how he had missed that before. 

He ran his hands through his brother’s hair, feeling himself calm a little and sensing the same in Dick. They were fucked up, but they were two of the strongest people he knew. They could beat this, together they could turn this crap on its head, beat the system; they had to.

And first he had to figure out what the bastards wanted.

 

“Did you ever work out what they were trying to do?” Jason asked.

Feeling the shift in his mood Dick leaned back a bit and ran his fingers through his own disordered hair. “No, I thought they wanted to hurt me, but my pain didn’t faze them. It barely interested them.”

“They wanted to drive the _self_ from your body.” Jason said, and as he did so, he was sure he was right - although why was another question entirely.

“Yeah” Dick didn’t seem like he wanted to discuss it further – although they would have to soon. Instead, Jason turned his attention to his own experience. 

“When they had me, they ran over the same part again and again, but I don’t know what it was so I guess they didn’t either – it was white and so bright it burnt.” Jason said.

“That’s what they were interested in?” 

“Seemed like it - and considering some of the shit I’ve got up to, some of the people I’ve known in my past, it seemed a bit anti climactic, you know?”

“You have no idea what it was?”

Jason fidgeted for a moment, “I thought it could have been from when I died.”

“The near death experience you had?” Dick asked.

“I might have been a bit more dead than I originally implied, but yeah kind of.”

“I’m confused.” Dick’s lip curled into a small smile and Jason returned it. 

“Story of my life.” 

They lay in silence for a while before Jason felt compelled to break it. “We going out there tomorrow? Pretend things are good?”

“Yeah” Dick said. 

 

Jason wasn’t sure he could sleep, but the comforting warmth of Dick’s body was lulling him slowly towards slumber.

“Jay?” Dick whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Before they started doing stuff to me for real, the Mind Place they used to take me to... I had to watch a child die, I couldn’t save him. Was that real, from _before_?”

“Depends on the kid” Jason replied. This sounded like it was going to be a fun conversation.

“So it could be real?”

“Dickie, there have been a lot of kids. Some lived, some died. Can you give me specifics?”

“Not really, he doesn’t even have a face anymore.” 

“It could be any one of a number of children that have passed through your life. He could be a kid you’ve been close to, or he could be a personification of, I don’t know, loss of innocence or any of that sappy crap”

“For a moment you were sounding so eloquent, I hardly recognized you - then ‘sappy crap’.” Dick smirked at him.

“Don’t sass me, I run this prison you know.” Jason smirked right back, feeling another little knot of tension release. 

“He’s young, dark hair – that’s all I got.” Dick shrugged.

Jason didn’t want to give too much away, but ‘young and dark haired’ could have fit any Robin but Steph, who he had never seen in the role but had heard she had burned bold and bright. He decided to take a stab in the dark – the kid was most likely Timbo or Damian.

“He’s probably your little brother.” 

Dick blinked at him in shock. “My brother? I have a brother?”

“Two, that’s why we’re heading back to Gotham.”

Dick smacked him in the face, his eyes blazing. “You think you could have mentioned this sooner?”

“You think you couldn’t have mentioned the Mind Place?” Jason shot back, “I didn’t think it was _relevant_.” 

Dick didn’t rise to the bait; instead he just narrowed his eyes. “How old?”

“How the hell should I know? Teenager and prepubescent squirt.”

“Damn it, Jason.”

“Its just gonna make you more agitated. We are going to go back as soon as we get out I swear. And then I’m going to watch your face as you realize your cute little bro is as much evil as you can squish into a ten year olds body.”

“So you do know how old they are!” Dick poked him none to gently.

“Shut up, it was just a guess.”

“Whatever you say, Jaybird.” Dick groused, his lips twisted into an angry pout. 

Jason had to admit he loved it when Dick was pissy at him. His easy grin and quick-fire temper were just so familiar and comforting, and sadly it was much easier to spark his temper than to make him smile in their current situation. 

“I’ll tell you about them tomorrow” Jason said, settling back against the sheets.

“You’d better – and no holding back information you don’t think is _relevant_.” Dick made obnoxious air quotes to drive his point home.

Jason resisted the urge to catch and twist his fingers.

“I mean it Jason, promise?”

“Sure,” Jason lied. He wished things were that simple.


	21. Interlude 3

Sally was almost used to the cave, the chirruping bats and the two strange boys who lived there. Even Robin’s foul temper and razor sharp tongue had become familiar, normal.

She finished taking 'Jack’s' vitals - she was sure the name Red Robin had offered her wasn’t his own, but she had outright refused to call them both Robin, red or otherwise. She’d had no luck persuading Robin to even invent a new name, but Jack had offered his up after only a moment’s thought. And, after a few weeks, she had managed to bully and cajole Jack to lift the creepy white lenses on his mask, revealing pretty blue eyes. Pretty blue eyes creased with pain more often than not. 

“What’s the prognosis, Dr Adedayo?” Jack asked her, as she took his blood pressure.

“Sally.” She reminded him, again.

“What’s the prognosis Dr Sally?” He smiled at her. 

She liked this kid, more than she should in this situation. The only way you could spend more than 20 years in medicine was to remain as objective as possible. But she just couldn’t help feeling affection for these boys. Jack’s bravery in the face of his pain, and the likely unpleasantness of his eventual death, was remarkable - and his determination and tenacity when it came to fixing up the huge, looming computer was as inspiring as it was stupid. She suspected in another life, he would have made a remarkably good doctor. Or a cop like Gordon, full of fire, steel and a quiet wit. 

Robin never stopped pulling at her heart strings, even with his abrasive manner – and sometimes because of it, she never stopped hurting for him. Some days she hoped the Batman was still alive so she could kick his arse from here back to Kensington. 

Sally didn’t answer his question, but instead busied herself preparing his next shot. “What was he like?” she asked. “The Batman?”

Jack looked thoughtful for a moment “Driven,” he answered at last. “Driven and obsessive and grumpy,” he smiled, a twitch of his lips. “And he cared about this city and her people, cared so much the only way he could cope was to close a part of himself off – but we saw it, now and then.”

“You miss him?” 

“Everyday.” Jack pushed himself up on the makeshift bed a bit, wincing as the motion made him cough. “Do you have family back in England?” he asked.

Sally sighed, “I left behind a cat, a messy divorce, a brother and three nephews who are much better behaved than you two trouble makers!” She hoped they were OK - she couldn’t dwell on it though or her fear for them would paralyze her.

“The rest of them, my family and friends,” Jack said haltingly. “They’re gone - missing. I won’t believe they’re dead. Batgirl was on a mission in Wyoming, so she might just be working her way back – or helping people where she is. I worry about Nightwing though; he would be here if he could.”

“He’s dead.” Robin flat voice broke in. “They’re all dead. The sooner you accept that the better. Watching you pine just turns my stomach, it makes you weak.”

“For you maybe!” Jack shot back. “But for me, hope is the only thing that brings me through the night; they are alive, and they _will_ come back to us.” 

“Pah!” Robin spat. “You’re as much a dreamer as Nightwing was, and look where it got him!” He spun away from them, storming towards the cave’s exit. “I’m going on patrol!”

Sally watched him go, her chest feeling tight. “He took it hard didn’t he?”

Jack sighed. “Yeah, the little brat has been a pain in my butt since day one, but I have a bit more perspective on things now. He has lost too much, every one he loves has been taken from him.”

“What about you?”

Jack was silent for a moment looking at his blanket-clad knees.

“I have hope. Nightwing, Batgirl, Batman – all the others who are gone? They have faced insurmountable odds before and they kept fighting anyway. So that’s what I’m going to do, until the end. And I will fight for Robin too – I spend about 95% of the time thinking about strangling him,” he smirked, “but he is my family and I would die for him – although I would make sure he felt really, really bad about it.”

“Then I will have hope too,” Sally said. “I look forward to meeting Nightwing and Batgirl.” She left Batman out - she was still fairly sure she would kick him if she met him. “What are they like? Is Batgirl pretty?” She was very amused to see him blush.

“Yeah”

“Ohh, got a bit of a crush?” Sally teased “Batgirl and Robin – sorry, Red Robin.”

He gave her a rueful smile, “Batgirl and Robin is something of a tradition.”

“And Nightwing? What’s he like?”

“Awesome!” Jack grinned at her. “He is the best big brother, although he is an asshole sometimes. One time he broke into my room and stole one of each of my socks – except the ones he bought me for Christmas.”

“Were they awful?”

“They had pink dinosaurs on. I had to wear them to a meeting with my school’s Principal.”

“You couldn’t have just worn odd socks?”

He gave her a look like she was talking madness. “No,” he said decisively.

Sally didn’t bother to hide her smile. “Did you retaliate?”

“Of course!” Jack grinned, and for a moment he looked like any other 16 year old kid enjoying a fond memory.

“Tell me everything.”

 

Damian wove his way through the streets of New Town. He was determined to ignore the pain in his chest and the traitorous prickling behind his eyes; this kind of weakness was stupid and pointless. But he was no fool – he knew he missed his father, he knew he missed Grayson, and even Batgirl. But missing them did nobody any good, and believing, hoping that they were alive, just made things harder. 

He knew they were gone and part of him wanted to pound that knowledge into Drake’s head. But if hope was keeping Tim alive, then he was willing to let it be. 

He finally made it to the shell of the old finance building, and crawled under the sheet metal blocking his way. Once he reached the dark interior he pulled a tin of sardines out of his bag. He ate a few whilst he waited; this was becoming a regular appointment for him. After a few long minutes a small grey cat slunk out of the shadows, assessing him with bright orange eyes. Damian shoved the tin towards it, and the cat tucked in. It was stupid to feel satisfaction in such a small act of kindness - for a cat no less - but Damian found its rumbling purrs calmed him like nothing else. When he ran his fingers through its fur, he allowed himself a moment to grieve – and to hope. His hope was painful and like a like a prayer – _please then them live, please let them come back_. 

For these few minutes with the small, warm body of the cat under his finger tips, he could just _want_.

Before the cat was done with its food, Damian pushed himself up. He had work to do, he had to focus on that. Hope was done for the day – now it was just the reality of keeping the peace within Gotham, and steeling what ever he could from the Anathema. He helped a lot of people, and that’s what got _him_ though the day.

He wasn’t sure his father would be proud of him, but he knew Grayson would be – Grayson had gushed pride when Damian won a stupid drawing contest – that he hadn’t even entered! Dick had sent off the drawings; studies of the manor, of horrors that could have lurked there. Dick had told him he was talented, and Damian had told him to go away. 

He wished he hadn’t.


	22. Chapter 22

Jason was spared having to explain their complicated family ties straight away, as both Fahim and Dick had been taken by the New Enterprise the next morning. They were gone the whole day and Jason was consumed with anxiety. What if they realized Dick’s deception? What if they punished him, or took him away? 

When they returned he felt a flood of relief that almost made his knees weak. He was surprised to realize part of that was due to seeing Fahim come back in one piece. The old man had shuffled to his bed, eyes down and body shaking. Jason winced. He had 40 more years of shit they could dig through in his brain - it must have been hell. Even so, Dick was his main concern, and his brother refused any efforts at conversation or comfort. He lay stiff and silent in Jason’s arms until lunch, and refused to leave the bunk for food. 

Over the next day or so Dick began to come back to himself, showing flashes of humor and interacting again. Fahim, meanwhile, seemed to be withdrawing into his shell, side eyeing everyone except Jason. He was kind of touched by the old man's trust, but it was a worrying change in behavior.

Then, as things settled down, the fuckers took them again, and the whole process repeated. As a consequence, the efforts at excavating the tunnel had been going poorly. Jason did what he could, but it was only a matter of time before one of the Anathema asked the wrong questions and found it. 

The repeated lack of his main enforcer was also causing problems. As they headed into the second week of Dick’s trips to the medics, and his lengthy withdrawal after, Harrison made a move. A stupid idea, but apparently people had already forgotten how messy Jason’s fight with Benson and the Snake had been. Jason hadn’t forgiven Harrison for Dick’s non-existent assault either, despite the fact it had been in his head rather than reality. Jason was holding a grudge anyway. 

He had given up on coaxing Dick out of the bunk, and was playing cards with Little Pete when Harrison charged him. Jason blocked the shank aimed for his back easily and was about to deal out almighty hell, when Dick flew past him and started whaling on Harrison like a man possessed. He was growling, and punching without restraint and Harrison’s face was starting to resemble minced beef. Despite his shock, Jason was torn between preventing him from doing something he would regret, and the message this was sending out to any other fools that thought they could have a go at stabbing him in the back. 

“Alright Pretty Boy,” he said eventually, “I think he’s had enough.” Truth was, it had been enough several dozen punches ago. If by some miracle Harrison lived, he wouldn’t be much more than a vegetable. He winced as he caught sight of Harrison’s face - he wouldn’t be winning any beauty contests, either. 

Dick was splattered with blood and had a stunned expression on his face, like he couldn’t quite work out what he had just done, or why he had done it. 

“Anyone else want a go?” Jason asked. Nobody answered, although Fahim was watching Dick suspiciously, like he was anticipating Dick would go after him next. Dick didn’t seem interested though, too busy looking at his own red stained knuckles. Jason couldn't help feeling the three of them were teetering on the edge of disaster. 

“Come on Dickie,” he said quietly, as he took Dick’s arm and propelled him towards their cell. A quick scrub in the basins was definitely in order.

“He was-” Dick started to say, then stopped and blinked at Jason for a few minutes. “He was going to stab you.”

“He sure was,” Jason said agreeably.

“I stopped him from hurting you again.” Dick sounded unsure and Jason realized that he might be a bit confused between reality and not, despite his claim's to be able to tell them apart. High stress and too little food and sleep had taken its toll. 

“You did,” Jason assured him as he started to wash the blood off Dick’s hands. His brother stood unresisting at his side. “They won’t try again for a while.”

“Jason-” Dick said, but then he stopped, and Jason just carried on cleaning his bloody fingers.

 

Jason held a meeting in his bunk. Fahim was watching Dick closely and Dick was staring blankly into space. It was not looking good for team Get the Fuck Out Of Here.

“Dickie?” he asked, “Do you remember what they are doing to you in there?”

Dick looked at him, his eyes a little wide and haunted. “No, I don't remember. I just feel...wrong, broken.”

Jason was afraid they were stripping more of his self away, making the slate blank again. The idea was terrifying on a personal level, but also on a wider one. What the hell did they want him for? Was he just an experiment or did they want a nice, easily malleable Nightwing? The Anathema knew who they were and what they could do. But then, why would they bother? Their own Tech and abilities seemed to outstrip Earth’s with ease – what would be the point in creating super ninja soldiers?

Fahim broke him from his thoughts. “I can see your soul,” he said to Dick. “It’s snarled up like a lamb in barbed wire.”

Dick just blinked at him.

 _Ok then_. Clearly the strain and the repeated trauma had started to unhinge the old man, they had to get out of here fast. He didn't want to hurt the old goat, or leave him behind, but if he lost it completely, he could jeopardize their escape. It wasn’t a choice he ever wanted to make.

Jason’s head hurt. Trying to maintain order, and attempting to preserve the sanity of his two friends felt a bit like herding cats. 

And there was that constant underling fear they would be coming for him next. 

 

They kept him waiting three more days, in which time Dick had slowly started acting more like himself again, much to Jason’s relief. He never mentioned what had happened to Harrison. Jason wasn't even sure Dick remembered. 

When the cell doors didn't open in the morning, Jason knew it was his turn. Despite his fear, he was grateful that they kept the other prisoners inside whilst he was gone – it was too easy to stage a coup when the boss was out of sight.

“You ok Jay?” Dick asked. “Just try and hang on to the fact it might not be real. Try to remember something good.”

“That's what you do?”

“Yeah, I try.” Judging by the slightly soppy look Dick was shooting him from under his lashes, he had a good idea what Dick’s 'good thing' was. He really had to take control of that situation, but every time he thought about it, he found a reason to put it off. 

Cold Eyes nodded to him as he entered the cell, his face as impassive as ever. “1678, if you would come with me.” It wasn't a request.

Jason nodded back. No point in antagonizing them. He stood and stretched. “See you on the flip side,” he said to Dick.

“1457, too.” Cold Eyes said, and Jason and Dick shared an uneasy look. This might be a Very Bad Thing.

Dick slid to his feet and did as he was told, but hate and fear were swimming in his eyes – he wasn't even bothering to hide it. Cold Eye's ignored him and escorted them to the lab. Dick was lead off down a different corridor, his shoulders tight.

“You got a name?” Jason asked Cold Eyes. “A number, anything?”

“Not for you.”

So much for small talk. 

 

Frosty strapped him into the chair. Her eyes had a new brightness to them, and he suspected she was excited about working on him again. There was another one too, a tall guy, older and hard looking. For want of a better name, Jason decided to call him Steve.

As she started slapping electrodes all over him again, the sound of screaming floated through the corridor. He had a horrible suspicion it was Dick. “For fuck’s sake!” Jason burst out; he couldn't keep quiet with that noise echoing through his head. “What are you doing to him?!”

“You will stop shouting,” Steve said. His accent was slightly different, his vowels longer.

“I ain't talking to you, Steve!” Jason looked at Frosty, but she ignored him. “Can't you give him a break? 1457 I mean. Some time to recover?”

This time, Steve's lips twitched. On a normal person, it might have been a smirk. “Don't you mean 1002?”

“No, 1457,” Jason said automatically, but inside, his gut was cold and churning. They knew about Dick, knew what he had done. Hell, they might have known from the moment the New Enterprise arrived. Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Do not have fear. If you are good, you may keep your thing whilst we work on it.” 

“Thanks,” Jason said sarcastically. Steve was different. The way he spoke and his manner were both _different_. He had more expression on his face - in some ways, he seemed less assimilated into the Anathema way. 

He was about to comment on it - maybe make some more demands, possibly sling some insults - when the back of his neck grew warm and he was sucked under.

 

 _Fuck Dick, and fuck Bruce. He wasn't some kid, and he hadn't been for a long, long time. He was Robin - danger was part of the deal, and he accepted that. Being rescued by Nightwing was bad enough. The fact he had made a stupid mistake and had been captured by little more than a bunch of two bit thugs was embarrassing, but Nightwing lecturing him_ , yelling _at him, in front of Batman? That was just one humiliation too many._

_So he was sitting on a roof in the rain, feeling sorry for himself. He knew he was being stupid, but it hurt. Who the fuck was Nightwing anyway? He wasn't his real brother. He wasn't even his adopted brother – something Jason planned to rub in his face the next time they met._

_He was so busy being angry he missed the sound of a light footstep behind him, only realizing he had company when a hand touched him on the shoulder. He squawked and nearly fell off the roof. His face burned with shame for what felt like the millionth time in the past few hours._

_Batgirl shot him a rueful smile. “Robin.”_

_“Piss off.”_

_“Charming, as ever.” She sighed, though her hand remained on his shoulder, squeezing gently._

_“Which one sent you? Can't be bothered to come themselves, can't be bothered to deal with the fuck up?”_

_“You messed up – that doesn't make you a fuckup. If it did, myself, Nightwing, and yes, even Batman, would have the same label. Acknowledge your mistake. Move on and try to do better – that's the only way forward.”_

_She was talking sense, but the humiliation still burned in his gut. He hugged one skinned knee to his chest and frowned out at the rainy city._

_“He's sorry, you know,” Batgirl said quietly._

_Jason huffed._

_“He is. You have to know he only exploded at you because you scared him, because he cares about you.”_

_“The hell he does! He wouldn't have done that if he gave a shit about me.”_

_Batgirl slid down to the rooftop beside him. “I’ll tell you a secret.”_

_Jason rolled his eyes at her behind his mask._

_“Being loved by Nightwing is a bit like being hit by a truck – it’s painful, overwhelming, and unrelenting. But it’s worth it, because there is no one who will do more to help and support you.”_

_“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Support? Mostly I just get bitching or yelling.”_

_“He's scared. The idea of you being hurt frightens him, that’s all it is.” She smiled at him. “Here’s the thing, though. After he loses his cool with you, he feels terrible, and then he throws himself around and angsts about it like a teenager. Which, I suppose he still is, but he is exceptionally annoying when he acts his age, so if you could go and tell him you forgive him, I would be forever in your debt.”_

_Jason mulled that over. “What’s in it for me?” he asked._

_“I would be in your debt.”_

_“Oh yeah?” Jason gave her what he hopped was a seductive grin._

_“Dream on Boy Horny. One flirty Robin was enough for me, thanks.”_

_Jason gave her an exaggerated pout. He was feeling a little better, actually, now he knew he had the power of forgiveness in his arsenal. “So, what’s in it for me?” he asked again._

_“I’m sure Nightwing will make it up to you – in ice cream or video games I’m sure!”_

_“Let’s go then!” He didn’t really care about those things. He just wanted to know if she had been telling the truth._

  

Flicker

  

_“Don’t you dare die, you bastard!”_

_The water was freezing, and despite being at peak physical fitness, Jason was tiring. Just treading water for what felt like hours was bad enough, but holding Nightwing’s dead weight was fucking hard._

_“You stupid circus freak!” he snarled at the semi-conscious man in his arms. The ridiculous collar of his costume kept poking Jason in the eye and he took a precious second to direct one of his kicks towards Nightwing’s shins._

_“Nhhh,” Dick muttered. His skin was pale even in the poor light, and Jason knew he was bleeding badly. The jagged laceration on his thigh was deep and had cut through costume and flesh like butter. It was a wound that would have eviscerated Jason if Nightwing hadn’t hurled himself in front of the sword aimed at Jason’s belly. Being Dick, he had been flying through the air at the time and the blow had landed on his lower body instead of the middle._

_“If you bleed out on me, I’m going to kill you!” Jason hissed. His arms were going numb and he was losing his grip. “Wake up, Wingnut!” Batman would find them soon; he just had to hold out a little longer. “Please!”_

_Dick didn’t answer_

Flicker

_There were many reasons Jason hated Dick. Jealousy was a factor - he was self aware enough to see that for what it was. But he found a new reason to hate him when he was just shy of 15._

_He had gone to Dick’s apartment after a fight with Bruce. Dick had told him he was welcome anytime, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to ring the bell. Pride was his worst enemy sometimes._

_Instead, he climbed up the building opposite and checked out the lay of the land. Dick was in his room, stretched out on his bed, shamelessly naked and playing with himself with one hand. His phone was clutched in the other hand, and he was talking to someone on the other end. Talking and smiling, flushed with pleasure while he teased his own skin. Jason blushed, his cock hardening in his pants against his will. This was not something he wanted to deal with._

_It was the first time a guy had made him hard and he hated it. He knew what it was like – why the fuck would he ever want that? But he did, and as he watched Dick on the phone to his girlfriend, because it had to be Kory, he hated him. Even as he watched him moan and laugh, and slide his fingers behind his balls._

_Hated him._

Flicker

 _Jason wasn’t a coward. Once he realized he was attracted to men as well as women, he set out to discover his boundaries. He wasn’t a coward, but it was_ personal, _and_ private. _He had a lot to consider. He knew he didn’t want a man to touch him again, but he thought about touching them sometimes, having their mouths on him, or him fucking them. Fucking Dick over the Batmobile – it still galled him that was one of his best fantasies._

 _He wasn’t a coward. He was prepared to explore this part of himself. He liked women - he liked them a whole lot. One time, when he was in the Titans, Kory had picked him up and hugged him like he was a doll, and he had never sported wood faster in his_ life. _But he couldn’t, wouldn’t deny the other side of things, the fact that an attractive man could make his cock twitch in his pants._

_He was coming to terms with it in his own way, working through it._

_The shock of walking into his room and finding Dick clutching a bunch of porn mags pretty much crippled him. Dick had seen his porn. His very gay, slightly fucked up porn. And he was going to tell Bruce, and they were going to chuck him out._

_He had never considered the sexuality of his family. He didn’t even know where they stood, except that Nightwing had a hot, hot girlfriend and Bruce was so Bruce…_

_Dick was still standing there wide-eyed. “Alfred hurt his back. I was helping with the laundry…” Dick attempted, but Jason ran and ran and ran._

_15 hours, and a number of fits of rage later he came back to the manor. He had to – he wasn’t a coward. Bruce was spitting mad that he had disappeared for so long without calling - in fact, he was grounded for a week - but Jason saw nothing of the rage he had expected, the harsh words._

_Dick arrived at dinner that evening. He argued with Bruce about Alfred’s lumbago and stupid, unimportant stuff. Jason was just waiting for the comments to start, but they didn’t. When he excused himself, Dick just winked at him. He went up to his room. His porn was tucked back under the mattress with a note that said:_

We love u any which way, Little Wing. U need to ask questions feel free, just btw us - B will be out of the loop!

 _There was also a box of condoms_. 

  

Flicker

  

_Bruce’s face when he saw Bludhaven explode seared though Jason’s brain; it was branded, stuck there, a moment of triumph and defeat._

_And horrible regret._

  

Flicker

  

_“How could you?!” Dick was livid, and Jason couldn’t blame him. The blood of their pseudo brother – he could never call them his actual brothers – the blood of their pseudo brother was smeared on his armor._

_It felt like it was burning through his Kevlar._

  

Flickflicker flicker

  

_“Hold onto my hand!”_

_“I’d rather rot, Golden Boy!”_

_“Please!”_

  

Flicker

  

_Nightwing’s nose crunched under his fist. Then a kick to his balls sent Jason sprawling. It was a shame it had come to this, but Dickface just had to learn, the stubborn bastard. He wanted to strangle him. Instead, he shot him. As anticipated, Dick flipped out of the way of the bullet and right into the second. Jason was relieved to see he had timed things right. Dick was clutching his shoulder, staring angrily at him. He was out of play for tonight, for the next week probably, but he would be ok._

_“Jason, if you go in there…if you kill them, it will be in cold blood!” Dick was trying to get to his feet. Jason stared at him impassively as Dick gulped in air, obviously in pain. “Jason, if you murder those people, I will come after you, and I will bring you in, understand?”_

_“I don’t give a shit, you sanctimonious ass. Those men in there? They don’t deserve to live. If we call the police, they’ll just be back on the streets tomorrow.”_

_“Jason!”_

_“Catch me if you can, Goldie.”_

  

Flicker

  

_He didn’t know what drew him back to the Batcave._

_But Batman hadn’t made an appearance in days - over a week, actually, and he was man enough to attempt to close ranks against a common enemy, one that was beating the shit out of the lot of them, as they had caught them unprepared and unarmed._

_The demon spawn let him in reluctantly, but not as reluctantly as he should, which meant that it was bad._

_Drake had a cough, his eyes were watering, and he was almost gasping for breath as he spoke._

_“Was near Arkham,” he muttered to Jason. “Wasn’t expecting much. They gassed everything within a ten-mile radius, all dead. I got a lungful.” He hacked up something suspiciously dark into a tissue._

_“They’re all dead in Arkham?” He thought learning of the Joker’s death would please him, but it felt hollow. It should have been one of them who ended the bastard._

_“Yeah.”_

_He didn’t want to know the answer to his next question, but he had to ask. “Where are the others? Batman, Batgirl, Wingnut?”_

_Tim looked at him with his clear blue eyes and Jason knew the news was bad. “Bruce never came home from work at Wayne Enterprises. Dick went after him and never came back.”_

_“Alfred?” Jason heard himself say, but he already knew the answer._

_Tim just shook his head. “It’s just us now, the three of us. You’ll stay, Jason? Till we can work out a plan?”_

_“Yeah, I’ll stay.”_

  

Flicker

  

_Benson was still wearing that knowing smirk. “Looks like your boy might need a bit of discipline,” he said._

_Jason grinned at him, the expression feeling more like a rictus than a smile, but he didn’t hesitate. He yanked Dick’s shorts down until they rested just under his ass, and landed a stinging slap against his butt cheeks. The sound was surprisingly loud and the men surrounding them laughed and hooted. Jason swung again and Dick yelped with the impact. He struck again and a pink blush started to form over the ridiculously smooth skin under his hand._

_This was a hundred teenage fantasies gone horribly wrong, but his body just wouldn’t listen to his brain, and by the time someone handed him a belt he was struggling to stay focused._

_The belt was guard issued, not the cloth things the prisoners had, leather with a metal buckle. It left red welts on the soft skin on the backs of Dick’s thighs. His brother let out a pained grunt at the first impact but remained quiet through the next flurry of blows._

_As quick as he thought was reasonable, he cast the belt aside. “I prefer my hand,” he said, not faking the huskiness in his voice. “He knows his place, just has to be reminded every so often.” He smoothed one big hand over the swell of Dick’s ass, the reddened skin and the heat radiating from it was making his throat tight. In other circumstances, this would be fucking incredible, the best thing he could think of, but now it was tainted. In his fantasies, Dick wanted this, enjoyed it. The furthest thing to what he was actually doing imaginable._

_He drew his hand back for another slap. His own palm was sweaty and sore, and he was sure that Dick must be in some considerable discomfort. The next blows he alternated long and short, fast and slow, all perfectly measured_.

This seemed strange, familiar.

_“I think we’re done,” Jason said, surveying the bruises and bright pink stain over Dick’s ass cheeks. “Don’t want to wear out my wrists before I’ve even gotten started.”_

 _He leaned over Dick’s back to bite viciously at his shoulders and neck, and sneaked a look at his face as he did so. He was flushed. His bottom lip was held between his teeth, and his eyes were wide and full of want._ Oh.

_Jason had never felt so aroused in his life. Dick wanted him, wanted this. He was going to tattoo him, mark him forever. Jason’s ears were ringing as he leaned further forward to whisper in his brother’s ear. “Tell me what you want and it’s yours. Gotta say the words, Dickie.”_

_He watched Dick’s eyelashes flicker against his cheeks. Some remote part of him felt there was something wrong, something off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it other than feeling a distant sensation of deja vu._

_Dick was saying something, quietly, barely any sound leaving his lips. Jason strained to hear it._

_“Fuck me. Do it, please, Jay. Please.”_

_The wrong feeling was still there, but the burning lust was stronger. He had never felt so sure this was the right thing to do_. [Although he could have sworn it felt off a moment ago. Hadn’t it?]

 _He could still feel the heat from the reddened skin of Dick’s ass. He leaned back and rubbed at the sore skin, making Dick whimper. Jason spread his cheeks and heard him moan_. God.

 _He blindly held out a hand and someone handed him a bottle of slick – who knew where they had gotten that from?_ [Who had gotten it? He was sure he should be more concerned about his audience, but Dick was moaning his name and he forgot the question.]

_When he pushed inside, the heat of Dick’s body sucked the sense from his brain. His thrusts were wild and disordered, making Dick howl and beg, pleading for more and thrashing against his bonds. All the desire, the anger, the past and the present came crashing down in a perfect storm of lust and sex. All the carefully restrained feelings came loose and overwhelmed them both. He was tearing at Dick’s skin with his teeth and fingers, snapping his hips so hard he was sure they would both have bruises, and when his climax ripped through him, he felt as though he was being torn apart._

God, what was happening?

_What?_

  

Flicker

  

He snapped out. He was panting, sweating, and he had made a mess in his pants. He felt like he had been dragged from horror to porn with no gap. The lust and his climax had been so intense it had consumed him. That feeling, those behaviors – they were part of him and that was terrifying. 

He felt violated in a whole new way. He had to give it to the Anathema - they sure knew how to give him a new layer of disgust and horror at them and at himself. He was full of rage, but at the same time, he felt… crushed.

“Interesting,” Steve said. “Interesting that you care for this one, despite your aggressive behavior. We know it cares for you, it is promising to see you would also see no harm come to it. ”

“He’s not an ‘it’, you bastard!” 

Steve nodded at him, like he was _humoring_ him.

“Fuck you, you sick freak! I’m going to find a way to kill you all!” Jason wasn’t feeling much like playing nice, and for one dizzy, embarrassing moment, all he wanted was to go home. Whether that was to Bruce, the baby bats, or something lonely and all his own, he wasn’t honestly sure. He just knew he wanted it. 

“The attachments you creatures make, they are so strong that they make you weak.”

Jason had to agree, but he wasn’t giving this creep anything more than he had to. “Fuck off,” he said.

Frosty poked one long finger into his shoulder. “What is this?” she asked, gesturing to the screen, and he was sucked under.

_Bones breaking_

_Darkness_

_Dirt_

_Surviving, fighting_

_Fighting_

_Bright, bright white_

_Warmth against his lips_

_Cold_

Flicker

_Bright, bright white, burning, searing his skin from his bones and then...._

Flicker

What is it?” Frosty asked again. “Tell me now.”

“I don’t fucking know! You’re pulling it straight from my brain. What the fuck else can I tell you?”

“Your brain is hiding it from us.”

“And from me too, clearly. I can’t tell you shit, so either keep digging, or let me go!”

“You do know. You know something more than we see. Speak now, or it is not you I will punish.”

Yep, there was that weak spot. He had been expecting it, but he had no idea how to counter it. He didn’t fucking know! He had lost whole years to his brain damaged fugue state. “I don’t know.”

Steve nodded to a flunky and he left the room. To go fetch Dick, no doubt. 

“I would tell you, if I knew what you wanted.” Maybe.

 

Dick was led in stripped to his shorts, and when their eyes met, Jason saw his fear and uncertainty, and he felt like he was drowning. 

Steve was watching intently. One of the guards whispered something in Dick’s ear, and he suddenly sprang into motion. Dick spit in the man’s face, spun out of the other guy’s grip and kicked him in the jaw hard enough to snap his head back and send him tumbling to the floor. Jason yelled, but that was about all he could do. He was strapped fast to the chair. Dick fought like Nightwing for a few wonderful seconds, taking half the room down before they had time to blink, but then, inevitably, they zapped him. Once he was down, they did it again, making him cry out and writhe in pain. Strangely, Steve had looked _pleased_ with Dick’s explosive reaction to whatever he had been told. Jason made a note to worry about that later.

Jason suddenly realized he didn’t know if this was real or not. Was he watching Dick be tortured or was Dick back safe in their cell? It was dizzying, terrifying, but he couldn’t afford to think that it wasn’t real, couldn’t take that chance with Dick’s life.

One of the men took out a tube with a glowing blue light on the tip. Dick cowered away from it, shuffling backwards on the floor.

“What is it?” Frosty asked again. 

Jason tried to think of a lie, something convincing, but he was coming up blank.

Steve nodded to the man with the tube, and he swung it towards Dick’s exposed back. A line of blue shot from the tip, like a whip made of light and air. When the end touched Dick’s skin, he screamed. Jason didn’t think he had ever heard Dick scream in pain like that. It made him feel sick, and it made him feel scared. “Fucking stop!” he bellowed at them, fighting against his own restraints. The blue shot out again, more of it hitting Dick’s back, leaving him panting and sweating, and again and again until Dick’s voice was raw and hoarse and tears were running down his face.

“Ok!” Jason yelled. “`Stop!” He racked his brains – his death maybe? If not, it might prove convincing. “I died,” he blurted. “Really, 100% dead. That might be what it is. It’s weird enough to cause your ‘disturbance.’”

Steve looked intent. “Speak more on this.”

“That’s it! That’s all I got! I died, and then I was alive again. I don’t know any of the shit that went into that. I don’t really know how or why. The best I understand it is the universe sneezed and I was alive again. There was nothing anyone did – nothing I had any understanding of!” Ok, he had a vague idea of what had gone on, but explaining it to these fuckers wasn’t high on his list.

“Could it be death?” Frosty asked doubtfully. “Could the rebirth he describes explain it?” She sounded disappointed. 

“Perhaps,” Steve mused, “but it is the how that is interesting. How was it you returned from death?”

“I don’t know how many times I can say this. I don’t know. If I did, maybe I could have sold the secret and become a bazillionaire, but I. Don’t. Know!”

Steve turned to Frosty. “If he does not know, we may have to find a way to delve deeper. I do not want this anomaly to pass by without investigation.”

Jason sort of wanted to cry.

Frosty nodded. “We can try protocol 6?”

“We shall make arrangements,” Steve said. “For now, take him back.” He pointed at Jason, then sneered in Dick’s direction. “And wash the stink off that one before returning it to its master.”

Jason was so relieved he could have happily passed out in a heap. He was sure Dick felt the same, but he kept his head down as he was pulled roughly to his feet and led away.

 

Jason arrived back to the cell first. He would never have thought he could be so pleased to see the bleak prison walls. He washed his face and changed out of his soiled shorts. He was not happy with the idea of explaining that one.

It was almost lights out. Jason did his duty catching up on the day. Lockdown was always tricky. All these grumpy men locked up together without food for hours - it wasn’t pretty. There had been only three minor fights and one dispute Jason had to fix. He dealt with that with a fist to the face, which was very satisfying if a bit unprofessional.

 

Dick returned after two hours, his hair still wet from the hosing down he had probably gotten. He crawled wordlessly into the bunk, and lay mostly on top of Jason. “You ok, Dickie?” Jason asked.

“Yeah,” Dick said quietly.

“I’m gonna check you over, ok? Jason rolled him over and carefully began inspecting his back and thighs. The blue whip had left only very faint red wheals on his skin. You would never know the level of pain it caused just to look at him. His fingers found their way to the sword scar on his brother’s thigh. He had forgotten that. Forgotten a hell of a lot of history between them.

“You ok, Jay?” 

“I'm alright. Got hit in the head with a lot of memories, but nothing like what you went through.”

Dick shrugged. “Today wasn’t so bad. Pain I can take. It’s the other stuff I can’t deal with, when they fuck with my mind.”

Jason totally agreed. He almost longed for a bit of simple torture compared to the trauma of having every horrid bit of his past dug up and examined. Although, he suspected he would change his mind if he had to go under that blue whip. 

In the meantime, he had a lot to think over, so many questions he needed to know the answer to. What were the Anathema looking for? Why dig through the minds of all these people? Most of them were worth next to nothing in the grand scheme of things. What made him and Dick different in their eyes? When Steve had spoken about Jason to Frosty, he had said _him_ , when he spoke about Dick he had called him _it_. 

When he asked Dick, his brother gave him an intense look that bordered on fierce. “What they did to me, stripping me away from myself, makes me less than human to them, and you see how much respect they have for humans. They view me as little more than a dog.” Dick was still giving him that furious look. “I’m not going to let that happen to you, Jay.”

He had hold of Jason’s arms, pinning him to the bunk, his weight draped over Jason’s body. “I’m not going to let them hurt you again!” he hissed.

“Stay with me here, Dickie; don’t flip out. We're ok, we survived, and soon we'll be free.” Jason tried to sound convincing, but it was hard, especially with Dick wound so tight, he looked like he was going to fly apart at any moment. He freed an arm and wrapped it around the back of his brother’s neck. “We’re going to get through this, or I’m going to have to just kick your ass from here back to Gotham.” 

That got a smile. Jason pulled him down for a hug, although Dick had other ideas, and he turned his head so their lips met. Just a chaste kiss, until Dick made a broken noise and licked at Jason’s lips. 

To be honest, he wasn’t sure how Dick’s tongue got inside his mouth or how his fingers managed to get tangled in his brother’s hair, but suddenly they were breathing the same air and kissing like it was the only thing that could keep them grounded. He should stop it, he would, but Dick’s touch and the way he was muttering through the kiss kept him distracted. Neither of them was hard. They were both too horrified and exhausted for that. In some way, that made it better. He could find a way to rationalize it when the guilt set in. 

“I’m not going to let it happen again,” Dick said against his lips. His fingers were clutching at Jason’s arms hard enough to bruise. “I won’t let them hurt you. I’ll kill them first.” The words themselves were empty promises. If Dick could have killed them, he would have done so already. The meaning was clear, though, and Jason couldn’t help but agree with Babs that being loved by Dick _was_ a bit like being hit by a truck. Albeit, at the moment that truck was apparently being driven by a drunken monkey. The impact was pretty much the same.


	23. Chapter 23

Jason was feeling guilty; and because he was feeling guilty, he was acting surly. He wouldn't call it sulking exactly – but others might disagree.

He had been standoffish and curt with Dick all day, preferring to spend his morning with Fahim - something that pleased the old man enormously.

“It's better like this,” Fahim said. “Better when it's just us.”

“Hmmm,” Jason said, noncommittally. His attention was mostly focused on subtly observing Dick as he played cards with Little Pete.  He wasn’t sure if Dick was even aware that Jason was avoiding him – and if he was, was he mad about it? Jason sure as shit would be, if their positions had been reversed.

“I knew I was right about you, boy.” Fahim said, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Knew I was right. Always been a good judge of character – better than anyone else I ever met.”

“If I’m what you're going on, you're a lousy judge of character, old man.  I'm an asshole, anyone will tell you that,” Jason growled at him absently. Dick was wiping the floor with Little Pete – he was probably counting cards again, the cheat. He was smiling at Pete in a friendly way, eyes crinkling, and Jason scowled.

“No, Jase, I felt you were good from the first time we met – I felt it. But now I can see it, clear as day.”

“The hell are you talking about, you old goat?” Jason said irritably, the old man’s crazy was really starting to get on his nerves.

“I can see your soul now.”

“Oh good. And it’s bright and shiny I take it?”

“Bright, clear and untarnished, untangled.”

The man was talking madness, but despite his irritation Jason couldn’t help feeling a pang at his words – he was pretty sure if souls were really visible, Jason’s would be the opposite of the pure thing Fahim was describing. But the fact that one person could think he was 'untarnished', even if he _was_ a few twists short of a slinky, made Jason feel a pleased warmth in his belly.

“So I have a miraculously shiny soul, what about these other fuckers? What about Dickie?”

Fahim shook his head, “Dark and twisted up – tangled and wrong. You should keep away from it.”

“It? Don’t you start with that crap too.”

“I’ve never steered you wrong yet boy, I’m telling you it – _he_ is all tangled up. Stop thinking with your dick and start thinking with your head. Then you'll see.”

Jason just rolled his eyes. He couldn’t figure out why Fahim had taken against Dick. Who, even if he was a bit screwed up at them moment, was bound to have a shiny, sparkly soul.  Because he was _Dick Grayson,_ Golden Boy, the kind of guy who helped old ladies across the street and jumped in front of bullets regardless of who he was saving.

And Jason?  Jason was just a fuck up.

 

Eventually Fahim’s paranoid ramblings grew to much for him and he retreated to his bunk, where he brooded, feeling squirmy with guilt. There was no excuse for taking advantage of Dick’s crush on him – even if he hadn’t done it on purpose, it was his responsibility, and he had to make amends.

He had to come clean.

But the thought filled him with an uncomfortable feeling. It was unsettling to realize that this muddled version of his brother was someone he counted as a friend, something he had been short of these last few years. He was going to lose that when he told him the truth. He had almost convinced himself that the tentative thing that had been growing between them was better off forgotten. Nothing could come of it even in other circumstances, but he was having a very hard time convincing himself that the loss of their partnership – friendship - was anything but bad.

Fuck the state of his soul - Jason’s thoughts were tangled and dark, and trying to unravel them consumed him until the evening.

 

He woke from a light doze to discover Dick sitting on the floor by his side. At some point in the past few hours Jason’s hand had made it’s way onto Dick’s head, his fingers carding through the thick hair, catching on tangles and gently tugging. Dick’s eyes were closed; he looked peaceful, content.

Jason cleared his throat. “Your brothers names are Tim and Damian,” he said quietly.

Dick’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, when he turned towards Jason, his expression was so full of expectation and hope, it was like he was being offered salvation on a platter. Something twisted in Jason’s gut, and an inappropriate rush of anger ran through him. He tried to swallow it down. “They aren’t your brothers by blood,” he said, “but you love them like they are, and they love you.” The words stuck in his throat, but he forced them out.

“Thank you,” Dick whispered, his eyes were dark and bright. “The idea there are people out there who need me, who miss me – it gives me something to fight for.”

“You don’t even know who they are, you’d walk past them on the street!” Jason couldn’t keep the edge from his voice.

“Doesn’t matter, I can learn about them. Just having this knowledge makes me feel real, like a person again. Like there’s something more than prison walls, you know?”

There was an expression on his face that Jason had not seen before – it was a shock to realize it was part happiness, and part hope.

“It’s not a feeling I’m familiar with,” Jason said.

“Don’t you have any family? Any… people?”

And here was the perfect opening, _Yeah, you and the bat brats_. He didn’t say it though; the words were stuck behind his teeth.

And stupidly, his mind flashed to Bruce, the last time he had seen him; angry, imposing, righteous. It made his chest hurt.

“Jay? You ok?” Dick slid up onto the bunk with him, flicking out a hand to close the pricey curtain.

Jason scooted back a bit to give him some room, to give himself some room. Recently there was just something about Dick that made it hard to think, it was like his brain stopped working depending of Dick’s proximity to it.

“Did you lose people?” Dick asked gently.

Jason couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh “Yeah, but I never really had the people I lost.”

Dick wrinkled his forehead in confusion, but his eyes were full of pity and compassion. Jason wanted to hit him.

“Well, you’re not alone now.” Dick said, decisively.

And wasn’t that just the whole fucking problem?

“When we get out and I go to Gotham to find my brothers, you will come with me, right?”  Dick said.

“Sure.”

It didn’t surprise him at all when Dick took this opportunity to kiss him, and he had plenty of time to stop it. Problem was he didn’t want to, despite how wrong it was, and there was an angry, shameful part of him that wanted to just have these last moments before it all got torn apart.

His chest hurt again as Dick pressed their lips together, the kiss was calmer that the previous one. Gentle, exploratory and sweet, he was fairly sure he didn’t _do_ sweet, but for a moment as Dick’s mouth opened for him, and he wallowed in feeling, he was drowning in it.

Then he pulled back, he struggled to get some distance. “Stop it, Dick,” he said, his voice was thick with emotion and he felt anger start to boil in his belly.

“You’re freaking out again. You’ve been freaking out all day.” Dick ran callused fingers over his jaw. “This is good Jason, this is ok – it frightens me too, that they could use you to hurt me, that I might lose you. But I think it’s worth it. It has to be worth it.”

Dick had no idea what the real issue was – although his guess was actually a pretty good one considering. But he didn’t have all the parameters to be able to understand.

Dick lent forward and kissed him again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It just wasn’t _fair_.

Anger was swirling in his belly, right below the ache in his chest. Impossible to think when Dick was pushing him down on the bunk, gently kissing his face, his lips.

This wasn’t for him, he didn’t get to have this, and it fucking hurt.  And it was all his own goddamned fault. When had he become so weak?

He pushed Dick away again, and his brother’s lips were pink and slick with spit. He was smiling, so trusting. He had faith in Jason and that was just fucking stupid.

“You were right not to trust me when we first met.”

Dick looked at him curiously, head cocked to one side like a puppy.

“I’m not a good person.” Jason continued

“I think you are.”

Jason pushed against Dick’s chest, shoving him sideways “You don’t know me Dick! You didn’t even know your own name!”

“We knew each other before, I believe that. You implied we were close, and I believe that too. That’s why this situation is bothering you so much.”

Jason laughed, it sounded somewhere between hysterical and bitter. He had implied that. Didn’t make it true though, Stupid,  trusting fool.  “We didn’t get on, we never have. Our only interactions have been in anger or violence. We both fight for the same cause... but we toe different sides of the line and you don’t like me. Hell, I don’t like you.” He waved a hand. “ _Other_ you.”

Dick grinned at him. “Liar, I can’t imagine not liking you, despite your bad temper and ridiculous hair.”

“The fuck is wrong with my hair?!” Jason asked incredulously - he was trying to have a serious convocation here!

“You look like a skunk. Smell like one too, when you work out and come to bed without a shower.”

“You would know all about that Mr. ‘I’m not going to wash for a week’!” He had just been skillfully distracted, thrown off balance. Dick was too good at doing that to him.

Too good at doing a lot of things to him.

Dick rolled onto his back and stretched his arms behind his head, his muscles flexed and Jason forced himself not to stare. A second later Dick was curled all over him again, “It’s not a sex thing,” he said, and Jason blinked. What wasn’t? This? It was something of a sex thing, judging from the fact Dick was half hard against him.

“I just think you should know how I feel about you, that I do trust you and I won’t leave you.” He was weirdly insistent, but god he was being so _Dick_   about this – the walking talking personification of mushy feelings. Open, and honest. For as moment Jason hated him, felt a spiteful desire to destroy all of that faith. Even though he had spent years wishing he had it.

“We’re brothers.” The words fell like shattered glass, but Dick hadn’t felt the sting yet.

“Yeah, like brothers, but with more kissing. I like the kissing.” Dick was grinning at him again.

“No, not like brothers, we _are_ brothers. That’s what we are to each other.”

“I don't get it.”

“For fucks sake Dick! Your two precious little brothers are also my brothers, your sister, wherever the fuck she is, she’s my sister too. You’re my brother. Adopted or whatever, but still, Brothers.”

Dick was staring at him like he was speaking in tongues and Jason stared right back. He saw the exact moment Dick got it, when the glass pierced his skin.

“What the hell, Jay?” he whispered, apparently too overwhelmed to process.

Jason shrugged, what could he even say? He was angry at Dick, despite everything being his own fault, he was angry at his misplaced trust. Mostly though, he was angry at himself, at letting himself get into this situation in the first place.

Dick’s hurt and confusion were cutting Jason to his core. Why the fuck had he even _done_ this? There was no excuse at all.

“Are you serious?” Dick said, still apparently struggling,

“Yup.” Jason said.

“Why would you do this? Why lie about it!?”

“I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you one or two details.”

Dick shoved him in the chest. Jason could feel his defenses coming up – he had always been a subscriber to the 'best defense is attack’ school of thought, and his mouth twisted into a smirk. Everything had gone to shit anyway.

“I was going to tell you,” he continued snidely “but I got distracted.”

“Do you think you could have told me before the incest?” Dick’s voice was a bit strangled. “Why did you kiss me?”

“You kissed me.” Jason replied easily, keeping his voice flippant.

“Why didn’t you stop me? You reciprocated!”

Jason just made a face.  What the hell could he say?

“Why would you even...” Dick trailed off, apparently unable to finish the thought.

“Because you're hot?” Jason offered, and then wished he hadn't. Dick’s face twisted up, a mixture of pain and fury. Sometimes Jason wanted to just cut out his own tongue. There was no time to take it back, and way past the point of explaining.

Dick punched him and he let it land, it caught him on the jaw. The second cracked him right across the nose. He deserved that. He took the next couple of blows too, though the pain wasn’t making him feel any better.

“We’re done,” Dick snarled. Rage made his face into something ugly, despite the pretty flush still staining his cheeks. “Whatever the fuck you thought you were doing, it’s done.”

Jason mopped blood from his face with his sleeve. “Yeah, figured.”

Dick attempted to storm out of the bunk, but he was tangled in thee sheet and ended up falling to the floor, shaking with emotion, his head bowed. Jason leant forward to try and free him and Dick kicked him in the head. He fell back stunned, his ears ringing, and by the time recovered himself enough to lift the privacy sheet back up, Dick was gone.

Fahim was sitting on his own bunk – he made a sympathetic face at Jason’s bloody nose, then gave him a thumbs up.

Jason just wanted to shoot himself in the face.

 


	24. Chapter 24

Dick was still mad at him - Jason was sleeping alone and everyone knew it. They also knew that his lover and former punk had broken his nose and generally kicked his ass - and still remained unpunished. Jason suspected his control of the prison was hanging by a thread and he and Dick were both in some considerable danger. He also knew he couldn’t bring himself to punish Dick for his own mistakes, and that his brother was not likely to cooperate in pretending to be punished.

He didn’t like to admit, even to himself, that aside from the danger this put them in Jason had grown accustomed to Dick’s warmth. It seemed strange to wake and not hear weird sleep noises, or have to wipe drool off his arms or chest. He _missed_ Dick, and it sucked.

Fahim said the tunnel was almost clear; he thought it was, he _hoped_ it was. If that was the case there were arrangements to be made, a sacrificial lamb to be chosen - and Jason wasn’t sure if Dick might not throw the whole plan to the wind and just stab him in the back and be done with it. 

Change was always worth watching, and for some reason since his fight with Dick, there had been a heavier presence of guards. Most of them were the new ones that had come with Frosty and the creepy medics and it galled him not knowing why they were there. 

In the end, why made no difference – he had no idea if Dick started the fight or if someone else did, but when it kicked off Jason had a sinking, resigned feeling. 

Dick was in incredible form; he was beautiful, moving with deadly grace, and Jason’s chest felt tight again. He didn’t interfere, at least at first; Dick was beating the crap out of the inmates, dodging fists and blades alike. Eventually the guards stepped in and the prisoners stepped back, but Dick just zeroed in on the new target. He lunged at the guards in a flurry of motion, and by the time they realized their danger it was too late. Dick’s heel snapped a guard’s neck, and his fist took down another with impressive force. All the rage and frustration was coming out in a maelstrom of violence. Even Jason, who had been half expecting something like this, was taken aback by his ferocity. The guards zapped him, but he didn’t go down, too far gone to even feel the pain. He advanced and the inmates shuffled back, the tension in the air was palpable. Should they join in? Should they rush them? Could they escape? It was the first time someone had stood up to the guards in months, the first time anyone had managed to kill one.

Then Cold Eyes came forward with the blue whip. Dick went for it, and Jason found his legs moving. Dick had already killed at least one of the fuckers - if he continued they were going to kill him, although maybe that was what he wanted. The thought propelled Jason across the room and straight into Cold Eyes. They went down in a graceless heap and Jason took the opportunity to punch him in the face. Then things were blurred, inmates surged forward, weeks and months of captivity and cruelty making them bypass their fear, and the guards fell back under the onslaught. 

It felt good - really fucking good - to be landing blows. Jason had lost Cold Eyes somewhere in the melee but he cut the throat of another guard with his sharp, even as he avoided zap sticks and wild punches from guards and enraged prisoners alike. 

He didn’t often feel pleasure when he killed, but there was a rush of pure satisfaction every time he got in a good hit or better. He wished he had his gun.

But it was always going to be a losing battle, Jason knew that - even as they were fighting inmates where going down, the chips under their skin sending shocking blasts through their bodies. Some, like Dick, were so beyond the point of pain they almost seemed impervious to it, and they continued the press forward. 

Jason had lost sight of Dick, and attempted to wade through the struggle to reach him. His chip had not yet been activated, but he suspected his time was running out. Then Cold Eyes, blood on his face, rose out of the mess of sweating furious bodies. The blue whip stuck Jason across the face and the pain was so excruciating he almost fell to his knees. The lizard-brain need to clutch at his face and check his eyes were still there, left his body fully exposed, and Cold Eyes slammed the whip into his balls. 

The pain was like nothing else he had ever experienced and unconsciousness couldn’t come fast enough. 

 

When he came to he was lying on cold concrete and his skin was buzzing. The memory of the pain made him shudder, and he decided he would probably sell his soul to avoid going through that again. After a long moment of trying to regain control, he pushed himself into a sitting position. He was in the Special Housing Units - or what used to be the SHU before the Anathema. Dick was sitting opposite him, face and knuckles bloody. His expression was carefully blank, 

Jason groaned and shifted, his legs felt like jello, and his shorts were wet. He plucked at them in momentary confusion

“You pissed your self,” Dick said coolly. “It happens.”

Jason felt a flush of shame, the whole prison just saw him go down with one blow and pee his pants. It was looking less and less likely that his reign as prison boss would last out the week - if they even made it through the day. 

And add to that, _Dick_ had seen him piss himself and lie in a puddle of his own mess. He wanted to crawl away and hide. Instead he stripped off his soiled shorts and tossed them in the corner. He wondered where his jumpsuit had gone. The guards must have undressed them, as Dick was in his shorts too. Jason gave him a quick once over - some bruises on his torso and face, and a split lip – but other than that he seemed to be unharmed. Impressive, considering the odds he had been facing. 

“So our current situation is? Jason asked. 

“Locked down until they figure out a punishment. Probably a flogging.”

Jason winced. “Just us?” It was eerily quiet in the cell.

“They brought everyone down here, so many there are three or four to a cell. We’re alone because of our ‘status’.”

More likely they would be murdered in their sleep in a bigger cell. Great.

“So we wait?”

Dick just looked at him, expressionless. This was going to be fun.

 

They were there for hours, it was cold and Jason was naked. Eventually he shifted to sit next to Dick, who didn’t exactly welcome him but didn’t object either. He did wrinkle his nose a bit though. Jason had wiped himself off as best he could but the smell of fear and pain and urine still clung to him.

“Dick-” Jason started.

“At least you didn’t crap yourself, that can happen too,” Dick interrupted. His voice was still very detached. 

“Happen to you?” Jason said, aiming for cool disintrest to match Dick's tone.

Dick blinked at him. “Once or twice. You can’t control your muscles when they zap certain parts of your body. Or _in_ your body.”

Jason shuddered hard, swallowing back bile. He still didn’t want to know what Dick had suffered, but now as well as making him angry, it hurt him to hear about it. 

“Dick,” he started again, “I’m sorry for what happened and some of the things I said.” That wasn’t too hard, the words came surprisingly easy.

“You’re sorry. You’re always sorry, Jason. Sorry I punched you, sorry I publicly humiliated and tattooed you against your will, sorry about my inappropriate erection, sorry I forgot to mention we were related before seducing you.”

“Hey, you seduced me!” Jason burst out, even though he felt like he was being buried under a litany of truthful accusation, that one he felt was a joint effort. although - no excuse on his part. 

“The hell I did!” Dick snarled at him.

“I was trying to keep my distance, but you just...”

“Were too vulnerable? Too trusting? To _hot_?” The last word was spat out.

Why had he done it? He felt horribly confused. His own emotions were alien to him, tangled up in the past and present. He felt the overwhelming need to lash out, verbally, physically, anything to relive the crushing feeling in his chest and the fury and shame he felt at himself for doing something so against his own nature. 

He bit down on the cruel words trying to escape him and Dick smirked at him, clearly aware of his struggle. Jason lunged for him and shoved him onto his back, the move took Dick by surprise and knocked the air out of him. 

“That wasn’t it, not really!” He snarled down into Dick’s shocked face. “ I don’t fuck guys, tried it once never again, no matter how hot they are. Never had a problem keeping it in my pants.” 

He was breathing heavy and the words kept tumbling out despite him trying to bite them back. “You messed up my head, being the way you are now, I look at you I don’t see Dick ‘Golden Boy’ Grayson, my asshole big brother, I see 1457.” 

Dick flinched and blinked up at him, too shocked to do anything.

“We have now what we never had then. Me and you? Brothers in name, not in blood, not in affection.” 

Jason pulled at Dick’s hair and growled into his shoulder “If you believe one thing about me, let it be that I ain’t the kind of guy that would force you, or fuck you over just because you’re good looking – that ain’t me!”

He paused, breathing hard. He felt like he had just vomited his feelings all over the place and he was hoping it would make him feel better. So far, he felt worse.

“Your accent is more pronounced when you're upset.” Dick said. He pushed against Jason’s chest, “Get off me.” 

Jason suddenly realized he was naked and lying on top of the man he was trying to convince he wasn’t a pervert. He shuffled backward and rubbed his face tiredly. It just kept getting better.

He searched for words that wouldn’t make him feel like he was tearing a hole in his ribcage and inviting Dick to stab him with something sharp and pointy. Anything he could say to make things better would make him vulnerable, and despite everything he wasn’t sure he could do that, even if he wanted to.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He blurted at last, “I got carried away with stuff.”

“With _stuff_?”

Jason didn’t know how to elaborate, so he just shrugged. “It was wrong, I’m not making any excuses for that, but it wasn’t out of cruelty. I wasn’t just trying for a fuck either.”

Then the screaming started. Dick pushed his face against his knees, like he could block it out by making himself as small as possible. Jason didn’t even bother trying. The memory of the pain he had just endured was still fresh, he could all to easily imagine what horrors people were suffering. 

He had to remind himself it was their choice to fight; he hadn’t pressured them. This wasn’t his fault. 

The tension in Dick’s body as he hugged himself, said that he was struggling with the same idea. There was little comfort that Jason could give him, not any more. 

 

Hours later and Jason had been reciting chemical formulas – anything to block out the noise. 

Crying, screaming and begging. 

Dick was bent in on himself his whole body rigid, his bare feet curled over each other, everything was tense and tight. They were both used to the screaming and torture in here, but they didn’t usually feel responsible for it. 

“Dick?” Jason said at last, he couldn’t keep the noise out any longer, he needed to talk, to hear Dick talk. “Ask me anything, stupid, serious. I’ll tell you the truth, I Just need to focus on something right now, you know?”

Dick raised his head slightly to look at him. “Ask what?”

“Anything, what’s my favorite food, what bands do I like, anything about you. Whatever”

“What’s your favorite food?” Dick asked listlessly.

Jason pondered for a moment, then had a series of sudden cravings. God he missed decent food. “I like junk - like pizza and burgers – a proper chili dog with onions and cheese!” His mouth was actually watering, “And I like fresh fruit, especially peaches and soft, ripe pears.” He shot a look at Dick, he had his brothers interest now. “And sushi – never would have thought I would as a kid, but I love the stuff – salmon nigiri, with wasabi and ginger.” There had been an awesome sushi place in Philly. It was bring your own booze and always had a long wait, as there was only one chef, but despite the fact it took hours to be served he had never tasted better. 

“What do I like?” Dick asked curiously, breaking Jason out of his drooling food thoughts. 

He had to think about that. “You used to eat a lot of cereal. Not sure if that was because you liked it or just hated cooking. And you ate a lot of pizza and take out too. Maybe you just couldn’t cook, I don’t know.” 

“Can you cook?”

“Damn straight I can,” Jason boasted. He was proud of his ability in the kitchen, not that he often had opportunity to practice his skill. “I can do anything, from the simplicity of an awesome steak, to the complexity of a Nepalese curry.” He’d had help with the curry, but it was one of his proudest culinary accomplishments. 

There was a small tilt at the edge of Dick’s lips and Jason counted that as one hell of a win, considering.

“Have I had many girlfriends or boyfriends?” Dick asked suddenly, completely changing tack.

“You had a few girlfriends” Jason answered easily. “Couple of serious ones, I’ll never work out how you ended up with such hot, smart, amazing women. I will also never understand how you ever let them go, but you are kind of an idiot, so that should explain it.”

Dick’s lips twitched again and he shot a look at Jason from under his lashes. “No boyfriends?”

Jason shrugged. “Not to my knowledge. I always assumed you didn’t swing that way.”

Dick looked speculative. Jason took the opportunity to shift closer to him. He was shivering in the cold air and Dick was the only point of warmth in the cell. 

His only point of warmth _anywhere_ at the moment.

“What about you?” Dick asked, “Any notable relationships?”

“No”

“How many people have you been intimate with?” 

Jason gave him a long, indigent look. “Been _intimate_ with?”

“Fine, how many people have you fucked?”

“Why do you want to know?” Jason asked, he was feeling a little uncomfortable with this line of questioning.

“Well, firstly,” Dick said, ticking off on his figures, “you said I could ask anything and you would answer. Secondly, it makes you twitchy, and I am not above being petty right now. And thirdly,” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m curious.” 

Jason had a brief argument with himself over the merits of lying or telling the truth. Eventually he decided to opt for something in the middle. “Never had a relationship. Been with two woman and one guy, sort of.” He flushed - he felt suddenly awkward about his lack of sexual experience, but he wasn’t ashamed of it, not really. He had just not intended to be so open about it.

“Sort of?” Dick asked, and trust him to zero in on the least comfortable part. 

“Yeah, it didn’t work out, so never went all the way, OK?” he couldn’t keep the bite from his voice, and for a moment he thought Dick was going to pursue it anyway. But instead he shrugged. 

There was a long, awkward silence. 

“Anything you would like to know about yourself?” Jason asked in a desperate bid to change the subject.

“If we’re brothers by adoption, or fostering or whatever.” Dick said without missing a beat, “Then do we have parents in common? Are they still alive? You said my folks were gone. Did you mean my birth parents or my adopted mom and dad too?”

And straight onto more awkward questions.

“We never had a foster mom, just a dad. And I think he passed.”

“Anathema?” Dick sounded like he was sucking on acid when he said the name.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick sounded it too, like he was sad for Jason’s loss. It made the demons of the past clamber in Jason’s head for a long moment.

“Yeah,” he said at last. There was no point in going into details, no point in knocking the scabs off old wounds. 

Dick leaned against him slightly. It was for warmth and solidarity, not affection, but Jason was happy to take what he could get. 

Dick looked like he was gearing up for a new question, but before he could ask the steel door to their cell swung open on squeaky hinges. Cold Eyes stood there, his face swollen and bruised. 

Bruised like he was a person, a human like them. Jason resisted the urge to spit at him.

“1457 and 1678 on your feet.” Cold Eyes said. “Hands behind your backs.” They did as they were told, and were lead back up into the building. Jason had thought they would be punished with the rest of the prisoners, but apparently they were headed elsewhere. The sound of screaming followed them for a long way back into the heart of the prison. 

He had a sudden premonition that he would soon be wishing for the simple pain of the Lash.


	25. Chapter 25

 

Jason couldn’t help feeling like a condemned man as he was lead into the labs. When they finally arrived, it was almost deserted - Frosty and Steve were in the lab itself but none of the usual soldiers or medics were around, and there was a strange atmosphere that made the hair on the back of Jason’s neck stand up.  Frosty did not look impressed with his nude state, and despite not being particularly thrilled about being so exposed in front of people he despised, Jason forced himself to give her a wide, obnoxious smile. Surprisingly she just scowled at the bruises on his body.

She turned on Cold Eyes. “You are lucky the asset didn’t die. If he had, it would not be well for you.” 

Cold Eyes looked uncomfortable, but Steve came to his rescue.  “You get ahead of yourself. So far I have nothing but your suspicions to suggest he _is_ an asset. And you will only have these scant hours to give me proof.” He turned his imposing stare back on Cold Eyes. “You keep silent and collect these,” he waved a hand at Dick and Jason, “at the given time and we will consider your debt for this disorder clear.”

Cold Eyes bowed his head.

Jason considered fighting but the ache in his testicles pulled him short. And besides, any ruckus would just bring the guards and possibly the whip back in. This had to be better than a lashing. He allowed Frosty to strap him to the chair, and turned his eyes to Dick. His brother and Steve were staring at each other, Steve with a slight upward twist to his lips, while Dick looked like he was imagining what it would be like to pull Steve’s lungs out through his nose.

“Come here.” Steve indicated the table. The straps on it looked ominous and Dick refused, stubbornly holding his ground. Steve’s mouth turned down and his eyes narrowed at the disobedience. Frosty tutted quietly to herself. To Jason, it looked like she was more scornful of Steve and his lack of control than she was of Dick.

Steve advanced and spoke a string of syllables that made Jason feel almost queasy to listen to.  Dick grunted and fell to his knees.  That did not strike Jason as a good development, and he didn’t like the satisfied, predatory expression on Steve’s face either. In fact, it was downright frightening, and despite himself he began struggling uselessly against his bonds, dislodging a couple of electrodes in the process. Frosty made another frustrated noise, the chip in his neck warmed and she sent him under.

Except not.

There was a confusing feeling of vertigo, and he could see his memories playing out like a movie in his mind. He wasn’t living them, wasn’t experiencing them, he was just an observer. He struggled to look away - his own murder was happening in Technicolor right in front of him.

His eyes were open, so he tried to look outward, away from the breaking of his bones and the vivid red of the Joker’s smile. With an effort, the lab swam into view behind the grizzly replay of his greatest hits.

“You will not regret this opportunity.” Frosty was saying, “I will prove he is an asset, and we will be the ones to make a breakthrough and travel back to 6J5. They others will just try to take the prize from us if they discover it.” She sounded more animated and excited than she usually did.

Clearly there was some internal Anathema power plays and politics at work here.

_The Joker laughed in his face, and then touched his shattered cheek tenderly, like a lover would._

Ugh, Jason blinked back to what was passing for reality. Straining his vision further he saw Dick was strapped to the table, Steve was staring down at him with that same vaguely predatory expression.

“Prove it or don’t.” He was saying to Frosty “I have wasted time using my project as a guard dog for your supposed asset. If it doesn’t pay off, this one comes back with me and that,” he flicked a glance at Jason, “goes back in the holdings.”

“Your project has done little to assist.” Frosty jabbed at her computer in irritation. “You would do better with a different one. This one has broken training time and time again.”

_He was in his coffin, watching his own hands scrabbling at the satin above his head._

Jason blinked away the image; the overlay of the past and present was making him feel nauseous.

“Remarkable isn’t it?” Steve said, “I have never had such a difficult project, one that resists and even breaks commands.”

“Then why keep it?” 

“Because when it is done, it will be perfect.”  Steve ran a finger down the bridge of Dick’s nose, coming to rest against his lips, a motion disturbingly reminiscent of both a lover’s caress and the petting of an animal. Dick didn’t react - Jason couldn’t see his eyes, but he appeared to be unconscious.

There were so many things he was learning here, things that made alarm bells jangle in his head, but he couldn’t hold onto his thoughts. The mix of speech and images was muddling his mind. He vaguely realized the strange distortions must have been caused when he had knocked off the electrodes in his struggle.

“You are dulled by your affection for it.” Frosty said at last, and her voice was laced with contempt. 

“Is that what it is?” Steve said, he sounded thoughtful, as he dragged his fingers through Dick’s tangled hair, and petted his face like he was a kitten. All sorts of bad things were running through Jason’s head as he watched, half in a stupor. He wanted to kill Steve, he really wanted to kill him.

“This one is worth so much more than a guard dog.” Steve continued, before shooting Frosty a steely look. “So you best hurry up. Last chance to take control before the higher ups seize it and wring your asset dry.”

That didn’t sound fun.

Apparently taking the veiled threat seriously Frosty went straight for the good stuff –

_Bright, white, burning, white_ …. Yadda, yadda. Jason knew how this went.

But this time he wasn’t experiencing something that happened in his fugue state – he was watching it.

And as he watched he realized exactly what it was. 

The Lazarus pit. 

He really should have thought of that.

And with that knowledge came a flood of memories, everything he had known, and everything he had seen; Ra’s, Talia, Damian, all the lore and stories from his past. The details of his own dip in the stuff came clear to him for the first time. He was carried away with the flow, there was so much data moving though him. He suspected he might be drooling, his face felt slack and strange and he could vaguely hear Frosty saying something, she sounded really happy. He hoped she choked.

Eventually he came back to himself. He felt like he had been run over by a truck, his limbs were heavy and his mind was fuzzy. Although he was amazed he knew so much about bloody Lazarus pits. 

Frosty and Steve were looking intently at the computer. Jason grunted and then wished he hadn’t as both sets of eyes swung towards him.

“So, you were right,” Steve said, “he was holding back. Interesting.” 

“Wassn’!” Jason managed to slur around his slack muscles.

Steve ignored him. “How do you wish to proceed?” Steve asked Frosty, “Do you wish to wait until morning, or ship him now?”

Frosty pondered for a moment, flicking through the information on the screen. “Tonight. If we leave it longer, our ruse will be discovered, and we may lose control of the data and the asset. 

Steve nodded, pleased, and Jason felt his stomach drop with a feeling of dread. They were going to send him away, away from the tunnel, away from Dick. They were going to take Dick back to where ever he had escaped from and there was fuck all he could do. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen, goddamn it!

Even when he shut his eyes trying to think, he could still hear them talking, casually discussing his 'shipment'.

“The contract between us will continue, and you will send me information on your progress.” Steve was telling her “I will take my project to 4T7 - it needs further training, this side venture has set it back considerably.” He sounded as pleased as she did. Jason tested his bonds, but he was strapped fast. They were fucked, after everything this had to go and fucking happen. 

He wanted to cry.

But he wouldn’t, he was going to fight the whole goddamn way, as soon as they unstrapped him, it was on.

“This has turned out successfully.” Steve was saying, they were back to looking at the screen “I anticipate this could -”

He never got to finish his sentence. Dick, somehow free from the table, flew into Jason’s field of vision and crashed what looked like a round laptop computer into the back of Steve’s head. Steve went down like a sack of shit, and Dick screamed like he was being tortured but he threw himself towards Frosty as she reached for her computer, her face made a crunching noise as Dick’s fist impacted it. She went down, blood pouring from her nose.

There was a long moment of silence.  Jason couldn’t quite believe that had just happened.

But assuming it just _had_ happened, and some deity was looking over them after all, then there was no time to lose.

Dick was panting as though he was in terrible pain. Jason couldn’t see any injury, but there was agony etched on his brother’s face.

“Dick! Dick, where are you hurt?” He tugged against his bonds, “Untie me, let me help!”

Dick took a few very long minutes to collect himself.  “Not wounded.” he gasped. “Not supposed to attack him, mustn’t touch without permission. Hurts me.” He struggled to untie the straps holding Jason to the chair.

Finally free Jason stood on shaky legs. He was still naked, they probably didn’t have long until Cold Eyes returned and they had two bodies to dispose of.

Awesome.

“Come on Dickie, fight through it and get your head in the game. This is going to be our only chance.”

“They were going to take you away.” Dick said, “They were going to take me back.”

“Well, now there not, they wont if we figure out a plan.”  Not waiting for his response Jason started looking about the room for something that might be helpful.

“We will never get out through the gates.” Dick said. “Trust me, we'll be caught. The tunnel is still our best bet.” He sounded better, less dazed.

“And if we cant get through the stupid tunnel? We’re worse than dead.”

Dick rubbed at his face, smearing Frosty’s blood across his nose. Jason didn’t mention it.

“Do we have a choice?” 

He was right, damn it. The likelihood of them getting out any other way was slimmer than that of getting out via the tunnel.

“Then we are going to have to make it count. I haven’t been down the tunnel in a while,” he never went down if he could avoid it, and he was not looking forward to their journey through it. “How close do you think we are?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” Dick said. His fear seemed to be evaporating before Jason’s eyes, replaced with determination. “We _will_ make it through, we have to. I wont let them take me back.” 

“Right” Jason was already moving towards Frosty’s computer. “So lets limit the damage if we can. We need to erase the data, get rid of _them_.” He pointed towards where the two Anathema were bleeding on the floor. “And then find anything else that can help.”

The computer was different, confusing. Every button he pushed was a potential risk. So he unplugged it and started hunting in its innards for parts that needed killing.

Dick meanwhile was binding their prisoners. They couldn’t kill them, in case hurting Steve hurt Dick, and wasn’t that something to think on later. It had a lot of very uncomfortable associations – some sort of sci-fi, brainwashing, MK-Ultra shit. Not Good.

But that was a worry for another day – when they were out of here.

“Hey Dickie?” Jason called quietly.

“Yeah?” 

“You know how they get the chips in and out? They got a gizmo or what?”

Dick nodded and having finished shoving Frosty into a cupboard, he started rooting through drawers.

“I haven’t forgiven you, Jason.” Dick said out of the blue, as he hunted through papers.

“Don’t care, as long as we get out.” Jason replied. He was still all fucked up about everything that had gone down between them, but damn, he wasn’t going to even think about that shit until they were out of here. Even if Dick being so _Dick_ about things made him feel weird, like there was a cold pressure on his diaphragm. He had to get over this fixation.

Later. When they were free.

Eventually Jason was done destroying the computer, the prisoners were bound and concealed and Dick was waving a small metal object that looked like a stapler.

“This is it,” Dick said, “But we can only take them out, we can’t deactivate them with out the computer.”

“That’s ok, I got a plan to deal with that when we get back to our cell – the main problem is how to get that de-chipper thing back with us. I’m not really dressed for hiding stuff.” He gestured at his nude body “unless I get really creative.” He waggled his eyebrows and was rewarded by a huff of a laugh from Dick.

“It might be a bit difficult to conceal, even for you.” Dick smirked at him, “Unless you have some hidden talents you’ve been hiding from me?”

“You got any ideas?”

“As a matter fact I do.” 

There was a knock on the door. Showtime.

Dick tucked the chip device under one arm and fell against Jason’s chest. The action hid what he was carrying nicely. Dick whined and moaned, totally over the top as usual. Taking his really unsubtle cue, Jason half lifted him and pressed the button to open the door. Cold Eyes was standing there, the red and purple bruise on his face an interesting contrast to the gray of his uniform. 

 

“Can we get on with it?” Jason asked, “I’m not feeling up to much right now.”

Cold Eyes seemed to deliberate over whether he needed to go in the lab or if he should just take them back. Dick flopped about helpfully and Jason put on his most obnoxious face.

“If we could? This son of a bitch is heavy. Unless you want to carry him?”

Cold Eyes looked disgusted with the idea. “Come, then.” he said. Turning to lead them back towards the cells.

Jason met Dick’s eyes for a split second - first hurdle jumped. He half carried Dick back to their cell. Frosty’s paranoia and desire to keep him for herself had worked in their favor – they had not been permanently moved, and she had arranged for them to be returned to their own cell, hidden in plain sight.

 

Jason had never been so pleased to hear the cell door shut behind him. The next problem should have been getting the chips out, but instead it looked like he was going to have to reassert his dominance over the inmates _again_. 

There were people fucking in his bunk. He found that really offensive, it wasn’t just a challenge, it was blatant disrespect. He snarled and stalked forward, he was vaguely aware of Dick moving threateningly towards the other inmates – who very smartly backed down and slid into their own bunks. It was after lights out so visibility was poor, although it was never dark in the prison, Jason didn’t even know who the couple in his bed were before dragging them apart and onto the floor.  Baxter and Little Pete. Baxter roared at him, furious and Pete looked like he was going to crap himself.  Baxter gained his feet, he was taller than Jason, lean and muscled.

“Your time is done Foxx!” he snarled. Jason couldn’t help the smirk that sped across his face, of all fucked up shit the last 24 hours had thrown at him this had to be the stupidest. Here they were, two naked men, posturing and about to fight over possession of a bunk.  He couldn’t hold back a snigger and Baxter leaned towards him.

“You think this is funny? Its over Foxx, I’m gonna - ”

Jason didn’t really care what he was ‘gonna’ and he slammed the heal of his hand into Baxter’s nose with as much force as he could manage, it was a blow that might have killed him on impact, but just to be sure Jason caught him as he went over backwards and twisted his head as hard as he could, the snap of his neck was satisfying.

There was silence, except for Pete’s panicky breathing. The other inmates sensibly kept to their bunks.

Jason turned his attention to Little Pete. He was an old time inmate, one who had been sentenced to life here by people, not by Anathema - burglary and first-degree murder. Despite that Jason didn’t hate Pete, he was just some stupid kid who had gotten mixed up in shit he couldn’t control. He wouldn’t have chosen him, but the opportunity was to good to pass up.

“Sorry, Jason.. uh.. Foxx.” Pete said, eyes on the floor.

“Get back in the bunk, Pete.” Jason said, his voice cool and controlled.

Pete swallowed hard, he looked terrified and Jason felt a flush of pleasure followed by a rush of shame. He liked having this control over others; it made him feel in control of himself. But he realized what Pete thought he might do to him as punishment, remembered that as far as the other inmates knew he had violently raped Dick for weeks, had broken him and remade him as an enforcer. And he felt sick. 

There was no going back though. 

“I said, get back in the bunk, Pete. I wont ask again.”

Pete nodded shakily and climbed onto the bunk.  Jason turned his attention to Fahim who was watching intently from his own bunk. He opened his hand twice and motioned towards the bunk. _Ten minutes._ Fahim’s eyes widened and Jason nodded, _tonight_.

He left Dick to dispose of Baxter’s body, and climbed in beside Pete, shutting the privacy curtain behind him. He found he couldn’t lie and promise not to hurt him, but the fear etched into Pete’s face made Jason want to get this over with quickly. 

“Turn over,” he said thickly, and watched as Pete did as he was told, his muscles trembling. Jason straddled him, holding him still with the weight of his body, he slid an arm across his throat. “Sorry Pete.” he said as he tightened the hold. Pete struggled uselessly for a long, painful moment, then went limp. Jason checked his pulse; strong and steady. He tied him securely and prepared the bed – sliding away the middle mattress and board to reveal the entrance to the tunnel.

 

Dick came in first, he was fully clothed – probably Little Pete’s stuff and was holding clean shorts and Baxter’s jumpsuit which Jason slid into gratefully. Dick raised an eyebrow at Pete.

“For the microchips.” Jason said in answer to the unasked question.

Dick looked pained, but didn’t argue. He took hold of their one tiny flash light, and lowered himself in to the hole. Crunch time.

Fahim snuck into the bunk a moment later, his scraggly beard twitching anxiously.

“Right then, you’re first.” Jason told him, motioning for him to turn around. First he made a small incision in Pete’s upper arm, then he used the device to get the microchip out of Fahim’s neck. The old man grunted and cussed quietly as it drew the thing from his skin, Jason ignored him and slid the chip, no bigger than a grain of rice, into Pete’s body. It was sensitive to heat and minute electrical impulses, Dick’s escape had proven that as long as it was transferred to a living body quickly, the alarm would not be activated.

“My turn” he said, he handed the device to Fahim and bared his neck.

 

By the time Dick surfaced, dumping rubble onto the bed they were both chip free.

“One more go round and we’re through!” Dick whispered excitedly, “We’re fucking through!”

Things were going too well, Jason couldn’t help feeling disaster was going to strike at any minute, his life so far had gifted him with a healthily dose of pessimism. But he took a deep breath and pushed it aside. There was no turning back, whatever happened.

“Let me de-chipify you first, and then lets get this show on the road,” he said, looking them both in the eye. Fahim nodded, serious, although his eyes were bright with sudden anticipation. Dick grinned at him, too caught up in the excitement of the moment to remember he was still angry. Jason grinned back.

“Let’s do this.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

This was it. Escape. What he had been working towards since he had first inadvertently landed himself in this god-awful place. Jason looked at Fahim, and the old man gazed back at him intently. 

“You got something you wanna say?” Jason asked, after a suitable stretch of time.

“You know what I’m going to say, boy.” Fahim muttered quietly - he looked earnest, sincere. “I just want the best for you. For me too. I’m telling you, your boyfriend is toxic, he’s _wrong_.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my brother.” In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have said that, as Fahim had seen them kiss at least once and was not unaware of Dick’s feelings for him. One of Fahim’s eyebrows climbed so high, Jason was momentarily concerned it might escape off his face. 

“Interesting relationship for siblings.”

“Yeah, well, its complicated - but the bottom line is that he’s family, and he’s coming with us. No arguments.”

Fahim nodded, although he still looked vaguely scandalized. Then he took one of Jason’s hands in one of his own gnarled fists. “I know you care for him Jase, I know you have history. I won't get in your way, but I implore you to listen. This is the best chance we’ll have. Knock him out, and leave him here.”

Jason didn’t even bother answering. He just narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t going to leave either of them here, even if he had to drag them both through the tunnel kicking and screaming.

He would rather do it the easy way though, so he squeezed Fahim’s rough hand and looked him in the eye. “What ever happens, I owe him a debt. I owe him a ticket out. The three of us work together to escape, get out, stay ahead of the bad guys and I promise I will listen to you. What ever you got to say, whatever your magical soul-seeing eyes observe. I will listen - when we’re out. Deal?”

Fahim took a moment, apparently weighing that up, then he slowly nodded. “Deal.”

 

Dick shuddered as the chip was drawn from his skin, and Fahim watched him with an expression that was almost pity, if a little mixed with revulsion. Jason was sure the old guy was wrong, it was obvious he was getting a bit muddled in the mind, but he _was_ going to listen to what he had to say. The things that the Anathema had shown him, what they had told him or done to him might be important. There were a number of things that had rung alarm bells during his last exciting trip to the labs, and although he knew Fahim was deluded, there might be an edge of truth to his paranoia - and that was worth looking into.

Then it was time. They left poor Pete with their microchips in his body, safe and warm, and one by one slid into the tunnel.

And this was the bit Jason was dreading. He really didn’t like tight spaces, and knowing he was in an enclosed space under ground? That was almost enough to push him over the edge.

There was no doubt he was going to go though the tunnel though - there was nothing that was going to keep him from freedom - but at the same time he was not enjoying the experience. As they crawled though the tunnel, it was clear that the walls were holding on a prayer and could collapse at any moment, and the tunnel itself was at least a decade old. They were though the blockage, but the old walls were held up with nothing but tightly packed dirt and a few bits of wood. 

Dick was first, holding the flashlight, but in the semi dark, Jason found it easier to crawl forward with his eyes closed, focusing more on touch; the cool of the dirt, the heat of his own anxiety-flushed skin. 

It was horrible, but bearable, right up the point Jason’s shoulders got stuck. Then his eyes flew open, reality hit him and he couldn’t move.

He was in the dark, restricted, restrained, and with the world above about to crumble down on his head. Despite himself he panicked, struggled against the earth surrounding him. He forced his eyes open, Dick was disappearing down the tunnel, taking the light with him and after all these years, Jason really shouldn’t have felt so desperate, so _afraid_. 

 

He zoned out for a moment, but then there were gentle, callused fingers on his face, strong and firm.

“You ok?” Dick’s voice floated out of the fear, “You ok, Jason?” The bendy bastard had found a way to contort himself enough to turn around, so they were face to face. 

Jason couldn’t say anything, he just panted and struggled. There was a part of him, detached and hateful, that knew he was going to die of shame after this. The rest of him couldn’t stop thinking about all that mud and dirt above him. He wanted out, he wanted to be at home drinking a beer or safe in someone’s arms. 

It was Bruce that flashed though his mind then. He had never felt safer than those few, short years he lived at the manor, even if he hadn’t felt secure, he had been safe.

What a joke.

“Shhh, Jay, you have to back up. Even I didn’t try to get though this bit head on, and you’re wider than me - just back up and I’ll guide you through.” There was some shuffling, and Dick started gently pressing on his shoulders. Jason attempted to use his legs and edge backwards. He might have kicked Fahim in the face in the process, but there was a weird rushing in his ears and he was struggling to focus though the grayness encroaching on his vision. 

Dick was still muttering at him. “Stupid man, you really should have mentioned this issue before now! Never mind, I got you – going to get you though.” Dick’s voice was soft, even though his words weren’t always that flattering. In fact Jason preferred his snark and censure. It was oddly grounding. 

Dick maneuvered him back, his voice keeping Jason steady, keeping him calm. Then he was free, back in a wider space and Dick grabbed his arm, pulled it forward and guided him sideways though the narrow gap. He wanted to lash out, to struggle and refuse to go further. He wanted to breathe fresh air again and straighten his shoulders, but he didn’t. He closed his eyes and followed his brother’s lead. 

 

He felt Dick push the flashlight into the neck of his jumpsuit, making sure they had light despite Dick’s awkward position. Then Dick drew him forward, his fingers entwined with Jason’s. They felt rough with calluses, but his grip was gentle. 

He edged further along, fighting himself, his past and his future shame. It was a blur, a horrible, muddy blur, but he struggled forward for an eternity. He was vaguely aware that Dick was shuffling backwards through the tunnel, leading him, coaxing him, in spite of his own discomfort.

Jason’s heart beat hard in his chest. 

Then Dick squawked and dropped, yanking at Jason’s hand for a moment before he lost his grip. Jason’s eyes flew open, fear sweeping though his veins, but by the cussing wafting though the tunnel Dick hadn’t fallen far. Jason edged forward; Dick had plunged about five foot down, and landed ass first in dark, unpleasant water.

It looked like the room opened up here – the light was poor from their flickering flashlight. Now he was free of the confined space and the intensity of his fear, he realized it fucking stank. They had hit the sewage system. And Dick was growling at him, sitting in a puddle of shit. 

Jason suddenly felt a bit better. 

“Alright down there, Golden Boy?” he rasped, embarrassed by the scratchiness of his voice, while being rather pleased that he could actually string a sentence together. 

“Super, thanks.” Dick grumbled, he was wrinkling his nose in disgust at the stink, and his throat was working like he was trying to fight down a gag. 

“Alright Jase?” Fahim asked behind him, his hand was warm and solid on Jason’s ankle, helping to drive away the shadows still threatening to engulf him. For a moment he was overwhelmed with the fact he had people who gave a shit about him, _friends_. Even if one was a nutjob and the other one was suffering from amnesia and actually hated him. It was still something that he relished, that touched him and made him strong.

God he was turning into such a sap. Clearly Dick’s fault, maybe sentimentality was catching.

The post panic euphoria was making his head spin, but he slid down into the sewer, landing with a splash. Dick touched his arm, big blue eyes all intense and concerned.

“You ok, Jay?” he asked quietly. And Jason could help staring at him. Was this how Dick would really react to him? Or was this 1457? It was weird that he had to make the distinction, but after Frosty’s forays though his mind, he had begun to suspect his view of Dick had been a bit skewed by teenage emotion and his own feelings of inferiority. He didn’t like having to examine himself too closely, and he didn’t like being wrong about shit – who did? But he was as honest with himself as he could be, and it was still a puzzle.

Dick was leaning towards him, even in the dim light, his eyes were hooded, and Jason had a sudden desire to lean forward to kiss him – and he was sure he wouldn’t be rebuffed. But as he took that extra half a step forward he realized Dick had shit water on his face and smelt like something horrific. He really couldn’t keep the _oh-my-god-no_ expression off his face.

“Oh god you stink, Dick!” He got out around the urge to puke.

Dick looked like he agreed. “You better get used to it Jaybird, this is the way forward I think.” He gestured into the deep dark of the sewer.

And he was right, although Jason felt all turned-around by the use of that nickname. Fahim splashed down beside him, and he fell to one knee as he dropped. Jason felt a sudden flush of shame – he had been so wrapped up in Dick he had forgotten to help the old man down from the ledge.

“Alright?” he asked. 

Fahim pulled himself up, gagging. He nodded, and nothing in his face or body suggested any upset with Jason’s oversight. That just made him feel worse.

“Come on.” Jason said, taking hold of Fahim’s arm and carefully guiding him into the murky, nasty water.

“No!” the old man whined, his voice high and panicky “I can’t do it! I couldn’t do it then and I can’t now!” 

“Can’t do what? Go into the water?” Jason asked. That would explain his reluctance to leave the prison via the tunnel, before the Anathema.

“Can’t swim, can’t bear the feel of it! I’ll go back.”

“The hell you will, old man.” Jason snarled at him. “We can swim, and we’re gonna look after you, make sure your safe and secure, right Dick?”

“Sure thing.” Dick said and held out a hand. Dick was well aware of Fahim’s new found dislike of him, but he never seemed to be upset with him about it – although Jason got the impression it made him sad.

“We don’t have much time,” Jason hissed. “I got though that fucking tunnel, now you’re going to get through this river of shit.” He turned to Dick, ““How is it my life, that I’m giving a pep talk to someone about the benefits of immersing ourselves in water full of poo?”

Dick snorted and took a light hold on Fahim and together the three of them edged into the water. 

It was one of the most disgusting journeys he had ever made. Jason’s feet never left the floor, but Dick was shorter than him, and Fahim was shorter still. Swimming for them was easier and Jason had so much nasty ass water in his mouth he would never be clean. He didn’t think he would ever stop smelling this stuff, and although it never seemed to happen in Bond films, there was a lot of gagging and puking between the three of them, which just added another layer of disgusting to the whole thing.

All in all, it was a horrific four and a half hours of shit, and vomit and desperation. 

But when they saw the end of the tunnel – literally and figuratively - it was the most incredible feeling. 

 

They came out by the sea, and a distant part of Jason registered that as important. They could use it to navigate follow the ocean long enough and he was sure he would be able to find somewhere he knew, somewhere to work their way back to Gotham. 

And the sea would wash them clean.

Jason helped Fahim up. The old man was exhausted, sick and dehydrated after the horrible journey they had just endued. Dick had waded into the ocean; he seemed overwhelmed with it all, and Jason realized that Dick was, in a way, seeing this for the first time, seeing the world outside of prison bars for the first time. Dick sunk into the waves, cleansing himself as much as he could, and for a moment he disappeared from Jason’s view. Then he shot up, exploding out of the water with a shout that was pure joy. It was infectious and Jason scooped Fahim into his arms and hugged him tight.

“You came though for us it the best way, old man!” Jason said, and he was loving Dick’s happy whoops as he splashed about. “We’re only here because of you!” 

Fahim grinned up at him, although he looked exhausted and drawn out. “And you Jase!” he said. “You made this possible for me. I can’t believe it!” He sunk to the ground, and started running the sand through his fingers. ‘I never thought to see this again!”

Jason stood in waist deep, in slightly shitty seawater, and he felt stronger than he had in weeks, in months. He knew they had to move, it was almost dawn, and they had to be as far away as possible. But damn the free air smelt good!

Although it would probably smell better away from the sewage pipe.


	27. Chapter 27

Stephanie Brown was woken by an elbow to the face for the fifth time in as many hours, and as she rolled her eyes towards the ceiling she counted slowly to ten. If she didn’t get some proper REM sleep soon, things were going to get ugly.

She snuggled deeper into the blankets and allowed herself to doze, lulled by the warmth of the bodies on either side of her and the baby soft snores of the child in her arms. They were safe for the time being, and she enjoyed the brief feeling of contentment at that thought. Even if she was going to be covered in elbow shaped bruises tomorrow, courtesy of the woman tucked tightly against her side. 

She felt it was important to appreciate every moment of relative safety when she recognized them. She was getting damn sick of having to smile though the constant fear of discovery or capture. Sometimes, she would have liked the opportunity to just lie on the floor and scream in terror for once, rather than be resilient and strong, but people were relying on her - so when it was time to move on, she would plaster a smile over her fear and get the hell on with it, even if she would prefer to indulge in some wailing and gnashing of teeth sometimes, and maybe some rending of hair and garments too. She sighed, pleased with the mental image. One day she would have the chance to really let rip with all the crap she had been stashing away in her psyche. It would be one hell of a cathartic moment. 

 

She must have slept because before she knew it there were callused fingers against her skin, and hushed murmurs. She forced her eyes open, and blinked up at Roy Harper’s tired looking face, as he gently lifted his daughter from the circle of Steph’s arms. 

“Sorry, Blondie Bat,” he said, offering her a small smile. “Time to hit the road.” 

“I hate the road,” Steph groused at him. “All those great American road movies were full of lies.”

Roy grinned at her. “Well most of them didn’t also include being chased by aliens. Although that would be a genre mash up I would have probably enjoyed.” He grimaced, “Well, before it became my life.”

Steph snorted and cautiously shock her remaining bunkmate awake. Selina jerked into wakefulness, tense and watchful. It had taken time for her to relax enough to sleep at all, and Steph was pleased with her progress.

She hadn’t recognized Selina when they had met in a stretch of forest in upper Wyoming. Catwoman was a seriously cool lady - even if some of her morals were a little dubious, she was controlled, cunning and always one step ahead. The woman she had found, fighting for her life had not had much in common with the Catwoman she knew from Gotham, at first glance at least - bald, barefoot, covered in blood and striking at friend and foe at random with her knife. She had been on the edge of collapse, bloodied and filthy. Steph hadn’t recognized her but she had come to her aid regardless. Selina had nearly stabbed her in the throat for her trouble, but that sort of thing happened all the time in the vigilante business - people seeing threat even in someone trying to help them - so she didn’t take it personally. 

Steph had known about the camps for months. They were hard to miss along the route she was taking, but nobody she had met knew what went on inside. As far as she knew, Salina had been the only escapee, and the story she brought with her was terrible.

When she found out where she had been, the things that she had endured, Steph thought Selina might be the bravest, strongest woman she knew. Even though she was snarky sometimes, and her elbows were super sharp. 

They had traveled together ever since, and it had been a painful process of adjustment, with Selina showing obvious signs of the trauma she had suffered. Sometimes she zoned out, other times she displayed hyper-vigilance so severe it ended in occasional accidental stabbings if Steph surprised her. They had worked on that, and slowly some of Selina’s fear had turned to rage. They had planned together, attempted to come up with a way of liberating the camps, but it had become apparent two people alone was not enough, and the folk they had met on their journey were determined to run away from the Anathema, not towards them. So in the end they had decided to travel to Gotham and then, when they had regrouped and had some back up, they would rescue the people who had been interned in the camps set up though the northern states. They had no chance of freeing them alone, but they weren’t forgotten, not by a long shot. 

.   
They had found Roy at a refugee camp in South Dakota, the sight of him had filled Steph with a flush of hope, and a rush of fear. Selina’s story had terrified her, and she was frightened at what Roy’s news would bring. 

_Blood and pain and death._

He and Lian had joined them. It had taken Selina a while to get used to him, but he had been very understanding, surprisingly careful and sensitive for such a gruff guy. Lian’s presence had helped too, a small, grubby ray of sunshine.

They had met others along the way; men and woman, families, lonely, lost people and roving gangs of thieves. They had joined refugees and rebel groups, they had helped where they could, fought where they could – sometimes against Anathema, but more often people, _humans_ , the displaced that had turned to violence and murder. 

Sometimes they traveled with others for miles, but in the end they always moved on alone, Gotham was an Anathema strong hold and everyone would really rather avoid walking right up to their enemies.

 

Steph heaved herself out of the makeshift cot, pulled on her pants and hoodie, and set about making breakfast. The last food exchange they had done was days ago, and all they had left were two fresh eggs and powdered milk – which would do for a scramble - and Mr Hughes had even given them a bit of bacon. It wouldn’t last long, so she figured she should use the fresh stuff while she could. It was a rare treat and it smelled better than anything she could remember as it crackled in the pan. 

Lian pressed her dirt-smeared face against Steph’s leg as she cooked, drawn forward by the smell and Steph grinned down at her. Children were amazing - they were so adaptable. Despite the things she had seen and the constant fear in their lives, Lian still played and chatted and slept deep and dreamless. She had lost her toys, and instead played with sticks and some shell casings she had found. Admittedly her games were full of the sort of thing they were enduring – running, hiding and violence - but her attempts to recreate and understand, to gain control over their environment, were as healthy as could be expected in this situation.

“You looking forward to some bacon, Li?” 

“I miss oatmeal,” Lian said, pouting up at her.

“Really?” Steph asked skeptically as she flipped the bacon in the small pan. This was going to be a breakfast fit for kings! 

“Yeah,” Lian said, her small fingers tugging at Steph’s pants. “I think so,” then she looked pensive, like she might be reviewing her statement. “Maybe” she allowed at last after much consideration. 

“This will be better, baby girl, promise!”

Lian grinned up at her. She was missing a front tooth, and the other one looked wobbly. This was one of those moments Steph hauled her tired ass out of bed for, one of the moments that made her feel good. 

“Where’s that old man of yours?” Steph asked. “I think food is ready!” 

Lian squealed, and took off for her dad. Roy was fiddling with their radio but he caught his daughter in his arms and spun her into the air.

Selina ignored them and swung herself out of the bed. Stretching like her namesake, her t-shirt road up as she extended her arms above her head. Her hands and belly were scarred, and Steph averted her eyes, focusing on the food. Selina didn’t like people looking at the damage and Steph did her best to respect that.

As Selina gave her a sleepy smirk and held out the Tupperware box she was using as a plate, Steph once again allowed herself to indulge in a fantasy in which they beat the ever living hell out of the Anathema and sent them packing to wherever they had come from. 

She was determined they would get to Gotham. Bruce would have a plan, and if he didn’t, Oracle would. Someone would have one. She refused to believe that they were gone or captured, everything would come together once they reached Gotham. 

And when they did, they would save all these people, there would be justice for all the wrong that had been done them and they would kick Anathema ass.

But first - breakfast.


	28. Chapter 28

“I guess that’s what comes of drinking sewage water,” Jason said, wrinkling his nose and trying to lift Dick’s head out of yet another puddle of vomit. It was a difficult task, as Dick’s body was shaking violently, both with spasms from his stomach emptying itself and from fever like shivers, alternating between hot and coldly clammy to the touch.

“That wouldn't cause the convulsions. Sickness, yes, but not fits.” Fahim was looking at Dick under lowered brows, clearly conflicted between distrust and pity. “This is something else, Jase,” he said darkly, and Jason feared he was right. 

 

The first few hours from the sewage pipe had been good, the miles had passed quickly, the euphoria of freedom lending speed to their feet. Dick’s wild joy had been infectious, and it carried them forward. Dick was seeing things he had known his whole life for the first time, the feel of sea and sand, the vastness of the ocean, wild plants and the night sky. It was strangely humbling to watch. 

And Jason had laughed his first true, belly laugh in far to long as he watched Dick curse the Anathema, and piss into the sea, giggling like a loon – it was such a stupid thing to do, and yet so very much a _Dick_ thing to do, and Jason’s traitorous heart swelled in his chest to watch it. 

But Fahim had begun to flag; he was older, weaker than they were, and they had slowed their pace accordingly. Jason’s feet begun to hurt - plastic and canvas slip on shoes were not made for traveling long distances, especially with saltwater and sand rubbing against skin. 

By the time the first light crested the waves, his feet were blistered and each step felt hobbled. Even Dick’s eyes looked dull with fatigue. 

Then without warning, Dick dropped, convulsions taking him to the ground like a stone. His eyes rolled back in his head and his body shook and contorted. It had looked like his back was going to break from the tension in it.

And then the vomiting started, and wouldn’t stop. 

 

Jason and Fahim had tried to make him comfortable. Despite the danger they had decided to make camp, set back from the beach in a wooded area. Dick puked for hours, his stomach heaving long after there was anything to come up. They didn’t have any fresh water, but Jason collected dew on a scrap from the sleeve of his jumpsuit and gave Dick as much liquid as he could. Fahim watched silently, but Jason could feel the weight of his gaze.

Jason kept Dick close, so he could make sure he wasn’t going to choke to death or drown in a puddle of bile or something equally as stupid. It was a long few hours, but when Dick was finally sleeping fitfully, his body exhausted from his illness, Jason reluctantly met Fahim’s eyes.

“So talk, old man,” he said, as he sat on the mossy ground and gingerly tugged off one of his shoes. His feet were a bloody mess. Lovely.

“OK boy, you said you would listen - you gonna do it without biting my head off?”

Jason grunted and nodded, preoccupied with probing a blister.

Fahim sighed at him, looking fondly exasperated, more like the guy that had become Jason’s friend than the one he had been interacting with the past few, tense weeks. 

“You need to clean those so they don’t become infected out here.” Fahim grumbled at him, waving bony fingers at Jason’s wounded foot. 

“How come you’re not limping and bleeding?” Jason groused.

“Because I am wearing shoes I’ve worn in for over a year, and you are wearing shoes you just stole off a dead guy.”

“Point.” Jason muttered tugging off the other shoe and inspecting it. “Do you think it has dead guy cooties?” he asked doubtfully, making Fahim bark out a wheezing laugh.

“I do like you boy. I want you safe.”

And just like that, they were back to the topic Jason has been happily avoiding.

“So talk.” Jason said, grudgingly.

“This sickness is due to Pretty Boy being taken away from his master.”

Jason gave Fahim an irritated look. “Firstly, we're out of Old Gate now, call him something other than Pretty Boy, OK?”

Fahim shrugged, but the expression on his face made it clear he thought Jason was being an idiot. Jason plowed on regardless. “Secondly, can we not use the term master? Trainer, handler, torturer, whatever, just not master.”

“You agree he was trained then? Intended for some purpose?”

“Yeah. You tell me what you think, and I’ll share my own observations, deal?”

Fahim nodded, “When I look at him I see darkness and deceit, tendrils of shadows clinging to him. They have done something terrible to him, made him into a monster.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, he knew monsters, had seen monsters and stared them down. 

Dick wasn’t one.

“And what does deceit look like? How the hell would you even know?” Jason held his gaze for a moment. “I expect they’ve done awful things to him, and that they were trying to brainwash him or fuck with his mind, but it didn’t stick, and wasn’t finished. Otherwise how the hell would he have escaped from the original prison he was being held at?”

“What ever it is, its still there, Jase.”

“If you are really seeing something, which I doubt, then it’s just as likely to be a wound to his psyche from all the torture and shit he has been though.” Jason rolled his eyes heavenward “Ugh, I can’t believe I just used 'wound to his psyche' in a serious sentence.”

“You tell me what you think, then.” Fahim groused at him. 

“Fine. I think they were giving him commands, just like you’re implying.”

Fahim threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “So you agree with me and yet we still argue!”

“When we were taken to the lab, before we escaped, I overheard them discussing how he kept breaking his commands - and please note the fact that he kept _breaking_ them, not obeying them.”

“What commands did they give?” 

“From what I gather he has supposed to protect me – instead he’d just punched me in the face and moved out of my bunk.”

“Protect you why?” Fahim looked more curious than suspicious now. 

“They believed I had some important information; they wanted me to survive, but also didn’t want any of the other medic assholes to catch on.”

“So they gave you a guard dog.”

“Yeah,” Jason poked at the rough ground with a stick. The earth was still damp from the night and it gave easily as he jabbed at it. He had thought about this a lot, and he didn’t like his conclusions. “It makes his behavior make more sense. Sure, he was learning to trust me, but for him to go from that tentative friendship, to beating a man to death for a shitty attempt at stabbing me – which I had already dealt with! It was a bit extreme.”

“You think his affection for you was programmed into him?” Fahim looked thoughtful.

“To some extent, yeah.” The stick broke in Jason’s hand, he scowled at it and tossed it into the woods behind him. 

Fahim looked pensive, clearly struggling with something. Jason absently petted Dick’s tangled hair as he slept on, oblivious. He should be pleased that there was yet another reason that he should gain some distance between them. But he wasn’t.

Fahim let out a sigh, “To be honest with you, Jase, I don’t think that’s all there is to his actions. I saw how he looked at you; way before the New Enterprise got their claws into him again. They were just building on something that was already there.” 

That was unexpected, from Fahim, and probably somewhat true if it was coming from such a grudging source. Jason ignored the little knot of tension that released in his chest. 

“So can we drop this shit and think of more practical concerns?” Jason asked hopefully, after a moment.

“No, what if they did other things to him? Gave him other commands?”

Jason rubbed at his face, he was too hungry, too tired, to think about this. And really what was there to think about? Unless Fahim presented him with concrete proof that Dick was planning to murder him in his sleep – it wasn’t going to make a difference, Dick was still coming with him.

“What if they are using him to track us.” Fahim said.

“We took the microchips out.”

“What if there was more than one, what if they are using some other method?”

It was a frightening thought, and certainly not impossible, but in the end, they were just back to the same answer. Dick and Jason were going to Gotham.

“You don’t have to stay with us. I hope you will, but you can make your own way if you want.” Jason said after a moment. He didn’t feel happy about Fahim disappearing into the unknown of this new world they were suddenly in – what was life like for normal people, after the Anathema? 

But his loyalty was to his family; a concept he would have laughed at a year ago. 

“I’ll stay if you’ll have me,” Fahim said after a while, “but you know my advice.”

“And you know I’m gonna ignore it.”

They shared a rueful smile. 

Jason debated weather he could risk sleeping, should stand guard or should try and find them something to eat. He had just decided on food when Fahim interrupted his musing.

“You should tell him, Jase”

“Tell him?” That could mean all sorts of things he didn’t want to think about.

“About your suspicions, about how you think he has been altered, trained.” Fahim said.

“And this would be to whose benefit?”

“Ours. Mine, I need to see how he reacts, I need to know if he is playing us false.”

That actually seemed fair, although Jason wasn’t thrilled about the prospect. “OK, when he’s better, I’ll tell him.” _If_ he even got better.

“You’re a good friend.” Fahim said, then sent him an amused look from under his brow. “Now boy, anything to eat?”

 

Dick hadn’t woken up, even when he was yelled at, shaken and slapped. It was past dusk, more than time to move. There had been no sign of pursuit yet, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t coming. In the end, Jason picked him up, carrying him as best he could. His feet hurt, and the extra weight was dragging down his legs with each step. It was tense and difficult and his temper was growing short.

In an effort to think ahead, they picked up anything that could prove useful along the way: an empty plastic bottle, frayed red mooring rope, a thin strip of wire. Jason was weighed down by carrying Dick, so Fahim ended up looking like a pack horse, laden with strange, colorful items.

The night was clear and visibility was good, but even so Jason often stumbled in the gloom and his arms and legs were on fire with the strain by the time Dick began to come round. He was more than happy to call a halt and lay Dick on the cool ground. Fahim remained silent, but he fetched water from a near by stream. 

Jason knew it might not be safe to drink, but his thirst overwhelmed his sense. And Dick feebly clutched at his hand as he angled water to flow into his mouth. 

“OK, Dickie? Back in the land of the living?”

“Nuh?” Dick looked pole-axed, like he‘d forgotten the last 24 hours, maybe the last 24 days, for all Jason knew. 

They rested, Dick slowly became more coherent – but he remembered nothing of his fits, or his illness – although he did have memories of the tunnel, and that was slightly encouraging.

After waiting as long as they could, they pressed on; Jason was determined to make the most of the night, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they should have encountered some sort of pursuit. If it had been a normal, human jailbreak, then there would have been helicopters, dogs and mayhem by now. Instead there was nothing, just rocks, sand and scattered woodland. 

 

It was a long night, and they were moving slowly – Dick was staggering, his body still weak, and Fahim was struggling to carry on without rest. 

They made camp again, well before morning. Judging from the sky, it was not even 5am yet, but it couldn’t be helped. He chose them a clearing not far from an overhanging cliff – they would have protection from the elements as well as the Anathema. In theory, anyway. 

 

Once settled there was an awkward, familiar, atmosphere of distrust.

“Are you going to tell him?” Fahim muttered, into the silence.

Jason cast him an irritated look “I said when he was better.”

“Tell me what?” Dick looked at him with worried eyes. 

Jason scrubbed a hand through his own tangled hair. He needed a shave, and a wash with soap… and a feather bed and a roast dinner. 

If only. 

He didn’t want to get into this yet, but he didn’t see a choice now the subject had been broached. Fucking Fahim and his sneaky manipulative ways. 

So he told him.

Fahim let him speak without interruption, and Dick listened silently. His lips were tight, but his face was otherwise blank. 

“Steve?” Dick said eventually, “you named the fucker that tortured and abused me for months, _Steve_.”

“In my defense, when I dubbed him that, I didn’t know he had anything to do with you!”

“Steve!”

Fahim cleared his throat “I think we are getting away from the point?” he offered, then shrugged when both Dick and Jason turned to glare at him.

After another long moment of awkward irritation Dick sighed and looked at his hands “I don’t know what to think of this. I don’t know if I’m mad at you or not.”

“Mad at _me_?” Jason asked.

“Yeah, that you would so easily make my feelings _theirs_.” He looked dark and angry. “They took every thing from me, and now you’re saying that even the way I feel is corrupted?” He shuddered and Jason’s heart clenched. He hadn’t meant it that way, but he could see what Dick meant. 

“You’re free now, Dickie.”

Dicks face contorted, his eyes screwing shut, and his lips tightening. “Am I?” he asked.

Jason took hold of one of Dick’s arms where it lay tense against his thigh. “Yeah, you are - you make the decisions, your feelings are yours.” Jason was aware that his grip was tighter than it should be, could even feel the bones of Dick’s wrist grinding under his fingers, but Dick leaned into him, releasing a shuddering breath.

“I don’t know who I am, but from now, what I am is me. This is what I am, and my feelings are my own.” Dick’s eyes were bright and fierce and Jason shivered. 

It was not a solution, it didn’t answer Fahim’s questions, and it didn’t fully lay Jason’s concern to rest, but it would have to do for now.

 

Later, when Dick was sleeping a deep and exhausted slumber, Jason was still staring broodingly into the small, virtually smokeless fire Fahim had built for them. The old man was sending him a sad, calculating looks and it was making Jason’s skin itch. “Spit it out, whatever you got to say.” Jason snarled at him, keeping his voice low and even, so as not to wake his brother.

“I thought you were thinking with your dick.” Fahim said. “Most boys your age do – I did, its how I ended up in the ’Gate!” He looked thoughtfully down and his wrinkled brown knuckles. “I thought once you’d stuck it to him, you’d get over it.”

“Any one ever tell you, you’re a crude old fart?”

Fahim snickered, his beard twitching, before his shrewd eyes met Jason’s. “It’s not that at all though, is it? You’re not thinking with your cock.”

“I think with my brain, old man.”

“Nah, if it was your brain, you would have stuck a knife in his back, or left him in the dust – you _know_ he’s trouble, but you ignore it, carry on regardless. That’s something else boy.” Fahim, eased him self up from the log he was seated on and tapped at Jason’s chest as he passed. “You’re thinking with this.” he said.

Jason flushed, then scoffed. “What, my sternum?”

“Don’t be a smart ass”

“Don’t be so fucking Disney!”

Fahim wheezing laugh floated out of the dark, and Jason hunched down, pretending to try to sleep.

Stupid, insightful old man.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains disturbing imagery of mass murder.

Jason eased open the door on the third house in the deserted street. Inside, it wasn’t much different to the other two he had entered - there was a very fine layer of dust on the surfaces, and it hadn’t been cleaned in a week or two, but things were mostly untouched. 

In this one, there were photos on the wall. A slightly goofy-looking girl in a prom dress; in another picture the same girl again, more mature - happier, in a wedding gown.

Jason hated the personal touches – he stole from bad guys, not innocent citizens that were presumed dead, whose greatest misdemeanor was probably a speeding ticket. Even so, he slowly searched the house. They needed supplies and clothes, and the dead or vanished wouldn’t miss them. 

It had only been a brief discussion to come inland. After resting up for a few hours, with no return of Dick’s mystery illness, they had debated the possibility. There was only so long you could live on seaweed and sour berries before your traveling companions started to look tasty. They were well overdue for something resembling a nutritious meal, and it was unanimously agreed that approaching a town to beg or steal food was there only option.

And the first town they had found had been scenic - pastel and white shop fronts, boardwalks and a small stretch of residential houses. It had probably been very cute and kitsch, but now it was eerie, a ghost town. 

After a heated discussion involving lots of arm waving Fahim had agreed to stay back by the coast, Dick would search the beach front shops and houses, whilst Jason would go into the more residential areas.

Now he was there, it didn’t look good. The place was deserted - in some of the houses, the streets, it looked like a struggle or a fire fight; in other homes things looked untouched, like the people that had lived there had just got up and left, with their coffee still on the table and there food rotting in the pan. 

They had an objective. The town being dead was in their contingences, but it didn’t stop the feeling of dread as Jason trudged up yet another abandoned staircase. Still, their needs had to come first – and that meant food, clothes, items that could help them. 

In the master bedroom he dug out a pair of pants that might fit him, dark khaki and made of a sturdy material. Discarding the orange jumpsuit was liberating, and despite the situation Jason stretched happily, enjoying the feel of form fitting clothes of his choice.

He swung open the bedroom door to find Dick leaning on the railing. He looked dangerous, in black pants and a black hoodie.

“Nice get up,” Jason said. He looked a little too good in Jason’s opinion, cleanly shaven and sleek. Dick gave him a grin, his mouth was full of brown stuff and it took a moment for Jason to identify it as chocolate. He manfully resisted the urge to shove Dick over and rifle though his pockets – he had missed chocolate so, so much. He was momentarily distracted, staring at the sweet smears on Dick’s lips, and trying to remember the taste of the stuff, Hershey’s kisses and the big bars of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut that Alfred would ship over from England.

Dick’s grin widened and Jason realized he had been staring at his mouth in a somewhat inappropriate way. He noticed that Dick was giving him a very appreciative look in return. 

“Orange really wasn’t your color Jay, this is much better.” 

“Orange isn’t anybody’s color,” Jason said as he pushed past and started back down the stairs - next stop, kitchen. 

“I looked good in it!” Dick sing-songed behind him. “It suited my complexion. You’re just too pasty pale!”

Jason shot him a look. “Are you trying to flirt with me or insult me?”

“Can’t I do both?” 

Dick was gleeful again. New clothes, freedom, food… his mood was almost giddy, and Jason sort of wanted to allow himself the same feelings, but there was still the fact of the town’s apparent desertion that held him back. It was wrong; it felt off, like he was waiting for some horror to befall them. 

“You need a shave Jay, although you might miss the hedgehog living on your face!”

Jason shut the kitchen door on him, smirking at the indignant squawk it elicited.

There was chocolate in the pantry. The feel of it on his tongue was a little slice of a forgotten heaven and he groaned with the pleasure of it. Dick chuckled behind him.

“Sounds like that tastes good, want to share?” 

Jason ignored him and started digging for more practical food. Cans were very inconvenient to carry, but Jason found a couple of duffels in the basement which they could use to get the cans and other goods to the camp - the three of them were going to have a fucking feast tonight. He loaded up with a can of chili –organic, no less - hotdogs, canned chicken and pork with BBQ sauce. A few cans of veg joined them. Jason wished there was some fresh produce, but the smell from the fridge indicated he should stay away from it.

It was harder to find light, lasting food they could pack up to travel with, but he was sure as they made their way though town they would find packaged goods that would work. He also liberated a case of beer – it was a shame to leave it there after all.

Jason shaved before they left and decked out in his new clothes he felt more like himself than he had in weeks, possibly months. But that sense of mild dread hadn’t left him. 

They left the heavy-ass canned goods under the porch and worked their way up the boardwalk, arming themselves with whatever they could. Fishing equipment, hunting knives, a few guns. The guns lead to the question; if the people here had them, why hadn’t they used them against the Anathema?

There was no sign of life, although there were signs of life interrupted; it looked as if most of the people had just got up and left in the middle of their daily routine. Other places looked like there had been a struggle, or a search – cupboard doors open and things scattered across the floor. 

Even Dick’s good mood has steadied - he was quiet as he stalked from house to house, moving with the fluid grace of a predator. As they progressed into town, up a slight incline, they began to smell it.

Death. 

It was unmistakable, and Dick may not have remembered it exactly, but he sure as hell reacted to it. He slipped to the side of the road, hovering to the shadows and moving cautiously. Jason did the same, his own training focusing him, alert for danger. The smell was strong, not too old - a few days, a week, perhaps longer. Maybe they should have gone back, found Fahim and moved on, but then what about the people who had lost there lives somewhere along this road? He was sure it was the folks of this town he could smell and that thought made him shiver. It felt like they owed them something. For the food, the clothes, for the lives that had been snatched away from them. 

They needed to see it, there needed to be a witness to what ever had happened in this town. Both he and Dick seemed to feel the same way, his brother’s gaze was solemn, but determined as it met his before the last bend in the road. 

There was a building; it might have been the town hall, a library, a school. It was tall, and its red bricks seemed far too normal for what had happened there. 

There was a corpse nailed to the door.

It had been exposed to the elements for a while, the local wildlife having taken their turn as well, but it was still mostly intact, arms and legs spayed obscenely. It was a message, or a warning. 

Jason left the shadows and went up close. Whoever had done this was long gone. He examined the skeleton, what he could see of it – it had been a woman, he could tell that much, but it was hard to figure out the age just by sight. The most telling thing though, was the collar around her neck. She had been Meta – super powered, or an alien. Jason’s stomach rolled, but he examined her carefully, and as he did so, he was aware of Dick hovering next to him, his breathing slightly uneven. 

There were flies buzzing against the window of the door she was nailed too. The smell was coming from beyond the glass as much as from this poor woman. 

They stood there a long time. It was quiet and it made the buzzing of the flies around the corpse, and the frightening hum of the ones behind the glass, into a macabre soundtrack for Jason’s spiraling thoughts. This was going to be awful. 

“We have to do it.” Dick said, his voice thick. “We have to, we have to see what happened.”

And he was right – they did.

Jason had seen death, dealt it out, but he had never been in the middle of a massacre on this scale, never seen such pointless indiscriminate murder. 

When he pushed open the doors the smell and the flies hit them like a wave of force, and he staggered back a step, gagging. Dick handed him a t-shirt out of his bag – he was already tearing strips from another to cover his own mouth. Jason didn’t think it would make much difference, but he did it anyway. 

Once somewhat protected, Jason tried again, opening the door to release another wave of flies and stink. It was a long walk to the main hall, the feeling of horror in his gut was making his legs feel sluggish. The air was hot and heavy and there were smears of rusty brown on the floors and walls. 

The hall was like a biblical rendition of hell– bodies stacked on bodies, adults and children, strewn around like discarded toys. Jason was torn between looking, _remembering_ this, and trying not to see the people whose houses he had searched, the guy whose soap he had used, the family whose food he had eaten. 

Worst were the small bodies, covered by larger ones – parents protecting their children. The sight, the thought of it, and the terror these people must have suffered was what got to him, more than the grisly nature of the situation, or the smell of decomposition. The small signs of humanity and compassion, even in death. It was that which made him bend over and vomit, but even as he was puking he forced himself to look. These people deserved to have someone fight for them. They deserved to have someone tell their story.

He could hear Dick retching, a strangled sound behind the hum of the flies. Jason’s ears were ringing; what had happened here was beyond his comprehension – and there was a part of him that was glad of that. He was human, and this hurt him at a deep and visceral level. The rest of him just mourned this senseless slaughter, all these _people_.

Fuck the Anathema, he was going to kill them all. He didn’t know how, but he was going to _end ___the bastards.

He cataloged all the bodies he could, looking at what was left of their faces. Behind him he could hear Dick yelling and lashing out at the door frame, screaming incoherent rage at what had been done here. And that, more than his gut feeling and everything he knew about Dick Grayson _before_ , convinced him that his brother was with him, on his side and not with _them_.

There were tears running down Dick’s cheeks and his knuckles were bloody from punching the wall. 

“Dickie, stop.” Jason caught a fist mid swing, and for a moment he tensed, expecting Dick to hit him but he just shook him off, heading for the exit. Jason followed, unable to stand another moment in there. Once they stood out in the fresher air Jason expected to feel relived. 

He didn’t.

“We can’t leave them there,” Dick said, tears smeared across his face. A weird detached part of Jason had a flash of envy for the fact Dick could cry. Despite his horror and rage, Jason’s eyes remained dry. 

“We can’t Dick. What we going to do?” He rubbed his mouth, the taste of vomit and death lingering on his lips.

Dick looked distraught and full of fury, and Jason half expected him to explode into violence again. He wouldn’t have blamed him. 

“Dick, seriously, we can’t take the time to bury them - and if we burn them… if we win and folks come looking for loved ones, we would have destroyed the bodies, the evidence.”

“Argh!” Dick screamed and punched at the concrete steps. Jason understood, but he tried to push his own emotion down, he had to think clearly.

They stood for a moment. The crickets were chirping, birds were singing, like this atrocity hadn’t even happened. Blood was dribbling down Dick’s hand; it was red and bright. 

“Can we bury her at least?” Dick said, after a while. “In a marked grave, in case anyone comes looking?”

Jason nodded. They couldn’t bury the townsfolk in the hall, but this Meta woman, they could. She would have to represent the others who had died here. 

They dug a grave, off behind the hall, in the soft overgrown earth that had once been a pretty flowerbed. Then they gently removed the woman’s remains from the door. She could have been a mother, a police woman, a shop keeper, a hero, a villain. There was no way of knowing, but they laid her to rest with reverence.

They filled in the grave in silence, Jason was at a loss for what to say. Dick was muttering words in a language Jason couldn’t put a name to – but that wasn’t unusual. Jason had a sudden flash of memory, of one time when Dick had been stuck on the head and forgot how to speak English for three days, instead speaking Russian – as far as Jason knew that was at least his fourth language and there was no obvious reason his subconscious had chosen it. It had been pretty funny though. This was less funny. 

The evening sun was casting long shadows over the earth and Jason was surprised to find his fingers making the sign of the cross. It had been a long time since he had done so, and he didn’t really believe in god anymore – if he ever had – but the wish for her to find peace was genuine and from the bottom of his heart. 

“I need a shower,” Dick said, subdued.

Jason nodded. He needed one too, maybe with bleach.

 

They made their way back down the hill, back to the house they had met up in. Jason felt edgy, and he was reluctant to let Dick out of his sight. Dick seemed to feel the same way, so they showered together. It was comforting and distant, the touches at shoulder and elbow felt warm and familiar. This had been routine in the prison, watching each others backs under the hard spray of water. 

Jason tended Dick’s damaged hand, and tried not to wonder whose house this had been, if the family was decaying in the red-bricked building up the road. 

The air was damp and warm and the silence between them was strained with grief. Dick fell against him, rubbing his wet face against Jason’s chest.

“I hate them,” Dick muttered as he reached his arms around Jason’s bare back and squeezed desperately “I want them to burn, all of them _burn_ ”

Jason nodded, tucking his face into Dick’s sodden hair he returned the hug with equal force. He was going to make them pay, for this, for the people they had lost, the friends Dick didn’t even know were gone, for what had been done to both of them, to the bat brats. He _was_ going to make them suffer, if it was the last thing he did.

They were subdued as they headed back to rejoin Fahim, they had both discarded the clothes they had worn earlier, and changed into something less steeped in the smell of death. But the scent still lingered, if only in Jason’s mind. They had retrieved the bags, but the epic beer and canned goods feast didn’t seem appealing anymore. 

Dick had insisted that they try to find the name of the woman with the inhibiter collar. It was a risk to stay longer, but they had hunted regardless. They had not succeeded, although they had a few possible suspects – the local doctor, woman that seemed to work miracles, was the top of his list. Her name had been Megan Michaels – a normal every day person. Who ever she had been, she had been loved enough by these people for them to hide her, despite the penalties imposed by the Anathema. 

And the people had suffered the ultimate price. 

Dick had taken a postcard of the town, bright and gaudy, so he wouldn’t forget. Jason didn’t think he could ever forget what he had just seen, but he understood the sentiment. 

What he couldn’t share with Dick was that every time he saw that woman behind his closed eyelids he thought of Donna, who he had crushed on since forever - because of her tenacity, her kindness and her sly humor - or Kory, with her wild free spirit, violent emotion and boundless love. People he loved, people Dick loved, even though he didn’t know it. Jason’s heart clenched at the thought of them, of what they might have suffered. The Meta kids Drake hung out with, that moron Wally West, Wonder Woman, _Superman_. 

So many people Dick didn’t even realize he should be mourning.

 

Fahim picked up their mood when they arrived back at camp, just looked solemn and didn’t ask how it had gone. He was an intuitive bastard, Jason had to give him that. Instead of talking Jason set about making dinner - he couldn’t muster much of an appetite, but he cooked up the chili and hotdogs. He was glad of the beer though, and he popped open a bottle without speaking or offering one to his companions. Fahim didn’t seem interested, but Dick took his own bottle from the bag, tasting it carefully before gulping down a mouthful. 

“It was bad?” Fahim asked at last.

Jason nodded, opening his second drink. “Yeah, all dead.”

Fahim grimaced and shook his head.

“Not all dead,” Dick said, his voice quiet, “There can’t have been more than six hundred there. The town should have had twice that.”

Jason frowned. He was right; the shear horror of the slaughter had blinded him. Trust Dick’s detective brain to have seen beyond it. 

“So where are the rest of them?” Fahim asked.

“Taken, or let go.” Dick answered shortly.

“How’d you figure that?” Jason asked. Of course they had been taken. The Anathema had lots of pet projects for humans it seemed. 

“They killed those people, pinned that woman to the door as a message.” Dick said

“So?” Jason had already figured that out.

“There is no point in sending people a warning if they can’t heed it. They made the other people watch, and then they let them go to spread the word – don’t hide Meta’s, do what you’re told, or die.” Dick’s expression was bleak and Jason knew he was right.

He served out breadless chili dogs in plastic cups. He knew what Dick had said was the truth, and he wished he had reached his capacity for horror, but he knew there would be worse to come. And for the first time, in a long time he sent a muttered prayer to any deity that might be listening.


	30. Chapter 30

Both Dick and Jason had suffered their share of nightmares in Old Gate. Once the flailing was over it had become almost automatic to murmur soothing nonsense or pet tangled hair to gentle the other back into sleep. Dick had muttered, thrashed about and even yelled, but he had never clearly spoken in his sleep. Since leaving the prison, that had changed — slowly at first, but it was getting harder to ignore.

The slick syllables that slid off Dick’s tongue were not in any human language, and those foreign sounds spilling from his brother’s mouth filled Jason with a fear that surpassed that of searching through ghost towns full of the dead.

He rationalized it: Dick had always had a head for language, and he had been captured for months. Steve had obviously spoken to him in his own tongue; Jason had heard him give commands in it before. Clearly Dick had picked it up.

He wished he believed that. 

It made the hair stand up on the back of Jason’s neck. It creeped him out on multiple levels. But the thing that horrified him, that made the sweat break out on his face and his heart pound in confused fear, was those times Dick would mutter _that_ language in his sleep, while his erection pressed hot and heavy against Jason’s thigh. 

Some nights Dick would murmur those strange, sibilant words or scream himself half awake, with his face twisted in pain, even as he pushed his arousal mindlessly against Jason’s body… Those nights, Jason didn’t sleep. 

He knew Fahim didn’t either, watching them, like a faithful guard dog. Jason knew Fahim would have something to say about it eventually, and Jason was just too fucking tired to have another fight with him about Dick’s loyalties. Fahim hadn’t been at the town, hadn’t witnessed all the pointless death and hadn’t seen Dick’s hurt and rage at what had happened there. 

Jason had never had a friend like Fahim before, someone who believed in him, who thought his way was right. It was powerful and confusing. Dick cared for him, that was obvious, but there their relationship would always have the past hanging between them. It would be there whether Dick’s memory returned or not. 

Fahim treated him on his own merits, not as the shadow of the boy he used to be nor as the shade of the man he pretended to be. And yet, Fahim’s love frightened him too. Before the New Enterprise had come to the prison, before Fahim started ‘seeing’ souls, they had been like business partners, friends, brothers in arms even. Now Fahim’s feelings for him seemed to be almost obsessive, like he was the savior of the world or some special person, instead of a well-trained fuck up. 

Jason was a smart boy, even if he did say so himself. He knew that Fahim’s fixation could cause problems – if he thought Dick was too much of a threat, he could take action on his own, and probably get his head caved in the process. Despite his own loyalty to Dick, Jason couldn’t say that he was one hundred percent sure he wouldn’t accidentally hurt Fahim in self defense. Things were becoming rapidly more complicated, with Fahim’s devotion and Dick’s confusion… and his creepy Anathema sex dreams.

Mustn’t forget those, although Jason really wanted too. 

Then, as if that melting pot of fucked-up shit wasn’t enough, they were already running low on supplies. After the last town, they had avoided large settlements, but there were more solitary houses that dotted the landscape, some clustered together, others lonely and bleak. Many of those had gardens and even fields. You could often tell whether they were occupied by the state of the livestock. After raiding the empty properties, Jason had let go a number of goats, horses and one grumpy, skinny donkey. They didn’t have time to care for the animals, but he figured they were better off able to find fresh pasture than locked in barren, dirty paddocks. 

One or two chickens fell to his knife though—fresh meat was a luxury he was not going to overlook.

 

It was close to dusk when he returned alone, from a successful foray into an abandoned house. There had been a few scraggly birds scratching around the front of the house, and he was never going to admit how he’d chased the feathery fuckers up and down the yard. They had been very hard to catch, the little assholes. He officially hated live chickens. Dead ones were totally cool though, and he was anticipating a seriously tasty dinner, what with the salt and extra dried spice he had liberated from the farmhouse. 

Even before this invasion shit, Jason had been a cautious man and he entered the camp in the same way he entered a safe house, silently and carefully. It was empty, but he suspected they might be down at the stream, and he slowly made his way there on silent feet. 

He was right, they were washing: themselves, their clothes [and Jason’s] and their lightweight pots and pans.

“Like I told you,” Fahim was saying, “I see you even better than you see yourself.”

Dick curled his bare toes in the water and scrubbed viciously at the pan in his hands. 

“I don’t belong to anybody!” Dick said angrily, “not anymore!”

“But you did,” Fahim said, his voice was cool and easy, but his words were white hot and sharp. “And you want to. You miss it, _him_. Your handler.”

There was a moment when even Jason held his breath, before Dick lashed out into the air with a fist, making a wild angry motion over the wide water. “No! No, I don’t miss him, I _hate_ him, with everything that I have!” Dick shuddered. “If I could have killed him, I would have. I would have done it a thousand times over.”

“But?” Fahim asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“Jason’s right, “ Dick said ruefully. “You _are_ a canny old goat.”

Fahim gave him a gap toothed smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Boy, I can see the mess in your head, I can see the red, wet wanting, the pain and the hate. I don’t need to be smart to see you’re struggling.”

Dick stared at the pan in his hands, obviously chewing over what to say. “He conditioned me, trained my response to stimulus. Punishment and reward, without it I feel lost.”

Fahim nodded carefully. He squeezed the water out of one of Jason’s shirts and hung it over a branch to dry. “Why now? Why not in jail?” he asked. “Is it because you moved far enough away from him and his influence?”

Dick shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the pan he was apparently trying to scrub out of existence.

“Ah,” Fahim said into the silence. “It was Jase, wasn’t it? He took the handler's place by pretending to own you, he made you feel secure.”

“Something like that.”

Jason didn’t like the sound of that one bit, but judging from what he now knew, and the way things had transpired in the prison, Fahim was probably right. He really didn’t know how that made him feel. Caught up in his own thoughts he realized he had missed a bit of the argument still going on by the stream.

“— of course I want my independence!” Dick was saying, his voice agitated. “Even if it means having to unlearn this conditioning – it’s something I have to do myself!”

“You know the only way to do that, don’t you boy?” Fahim said gently. 

And Jason knew what he was going to say, He wanted to step in, but his mouth stayed shut and his feet stayed still. He wanted to know what Dick would say, more than he wanted to stop Fahim from saying what he knew was coming. 

“What’s that?” Dick asked cautiously.

“Leave.”

And there it was, Jason was always fucking right about this shit. 

Dick and Fahim stared at one another for a long moment, before Dick broke eye contact and looked back over the water. “I don’t want to,” he said at last, and Jason breathed a small sigh of relief, despite himself.

Fahim looked frustrated, but not angry. “You said yourself you need to relearn independence. How can you do that with Jason so close?”

Dick shook his head, “Being independent isn’t the same as being alone.”

“I understand,” Fahim said, “but the truth of the matter is, if you love him, you have to leave him.”

Dick looked startled, then thoughtful. “Why?” he demanded after a moment.

“Because you’re dangerous.”

Jason wasn’t sure what Dick would say to that. He had no idea how he might react. He seemed to be thinking it over, turning the concept around in his mind.

“That’s subjective, ” he said at last, “and I don’t intend him any harm. I don’t know what you see when you look at me, and I don’t know if it's real or not, but if it is, you have to know I would never hurt him. I care for him.” 

Fahim surprised Jason by reaching out and grasping Dick’s hand. “I know you do boy, that I know clear as day, but I think they still have you, I can see the taint.”

“And I don’t think they _do_ , not in the way you mean,” Dick shot back. “What they did to me, what _he_ did to me may have ‘tainted’ me, but I am my own person. For the first time in as long as I remember, I belong only to myself.” He paused again, his face screwing up in pain. “That’s hard for me. It's weird and it feels wrong, like something is missing. But at the same time I have never been so grateful for anything in my life. Feeling wrong I can deal with, not being my own person, I can’t.”

Fahim gripped his wrist tighter, his face full of compassion and determination. “What if I’m right and you are wrong?” he asked, gently.

Dick reached out and held the old man’s arm in return. “Then protect him, and yourself. I don’t know what you see or think you see, but if I’m wrong, then of course I want you to save him.”

“You really love him, don’t you?” Fahim asked, just like that, the bastard. Jason’s blood pumped in his ears. He didn’t know what he wanted to hear.

“Yeah, ” Dick answered, without a twitch. “I do. It could be them manipulating stuff, sure – but what I said stands. I don’t believe I would ever hurt him, but if it looks like I’m going to – stop me if you can.”

“I will, boy,” Fahim said, and at last his eyes looked warm, comforted by Dick’s words. Jason didn’t feel comforted, his chest felt tight, and his eyes stung. He was clearly allergic to the dead chicken whose legs he was turning into pâté as he clenched them in his fist. God, but he was a sappy ridiculous excuse for badass right now, but he truly, deeply loved his friends, and he didn’t deserve them at all.

So if he was a little curt and surly when he marched noisily into camp, it was their fault. There was only so much gooey shit he could cope with, even from himself, before he reached critical mass and he had to punch things and be grumpy or _explode_. 

 

He did take some things on board though, and after a fucking fabulous dinner of spit roast chicken and canned tomatoes flavored with Cajun spice, he drew Dick aside. 

There had been no beer at the house, but he had liberated a bottle of bourbon. He passed it to Dick who took a long swig and hummed at the sweet kick.

“Dickie, if you’ve got questions, ask ‘em, and I’ll answer,” Jason said, taking a drink from the bottle. The alcohol and his full belly were making him feel loose and languid, despite the overhead conversation from earlier still weighing heavy on his mind.

Dick gave him a steady, relaxed look, then he lifted his shirt, tugging it over his head and chucking it away.

Jason raised a brow. He couldn’t help himself. Dick’s skin was dusky gold in the fire light and he looked like a lethal predator at rest as he leaned over for the bottle. 

“I am what I want to know,” Dick said. “This—” he gestured at his bare chest. “This is a map of my life, these scars. But they’re written in a language I can’t understand.” He sucked back another swallow of bourbon. “What do they mean? What roads did I travel to get here?” He was wistful and sad now. His voice was laced with need and drink. He had always been a lightweight. 

“You are what you have always been,” Jason said at last. This Dick Grayson was actually not that different from the original. “You’re compassionate, clever, kind, you have a bad temper and the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy.”

Dick grinned at him, but he obviously wanted more. It was time Jason gave it to him, a little at least, enough to give him back a bit of the self he was so desperately searching for.

“The scars,” Jason began, as he tried to get his thoughts in order. “You got those, most of them, through your night job — you were, _are_ , a vigilante.” He let that sink in for a moment.

“Like the Batman?”

“Yeah, like him but better looking.” 

Dick scoffed. “Yeah right, no one knows what the Batman looks like!”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Except for Robin, Batgirl, Catwoman, and a bunch of other Bat-freaks.”

“Catwoman?” Dick sounded skeptical. “Isn’t she a thief?” 

“Yeah, but that never stopped old Batman getting his leg over now and again!”

“No way!” Dick took another drink. “Actually that’s kind of hot.”

Jason laughed, although thinking of Bruce made his heart ache – it still hurt. “You’ll regret you said that!” he chuckled, moving through the pain and into the comfort of casual mockery. “Believe me you will.”

Dick grinned at him. “So I’m really a vigilante – am I famous, would I know me?”

“That sentence hurt my brain,” Jason groused.

“But would I?” Dick leant forward, “You were one too, weren’t you? Do you know Batman? Is that how you know what he looks like?”

“I knew him,” Jason said evenly. “So did you.”

Dick blinked up at him like a starving puppy being offered a steak. 

Jason snorted into the bourbon. “You were Robin.”

Dick scrunched up his nose. “Isn’t Robin twelve?” 

“Ten actually,” Jason smirked. “You were the _first_ Robin.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not. You were the first Robin – now Nightwing, and I am, _was_ , the second Robin.” He didn’t offer any info on the Red Hood, just in case Dick had heard of him – no need to make more trouble than they were already in. 

Dick didn’t look convinced. “So is Batman… my dad?” he asked after a moment.

“In a way, yeah, he was. But he wasn’t a very good one, and he’s been gone a while, so don’t expect a tearful reunion.”

“My littlest brother, the one you mentioned before? That’s Robin?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you bullshitting me?”

“No Dickie, but this information shouldn’t be spread around, it would have gotten us both killed in jail, it could still get us killed now. And the people who are important to us.”

“You mean it, don’t you?” Dick breathed, his shocked expression seemed to be melting into a mix of conviction and pleasure. “I help people, that’s what I do!” Dick lunged for him and fell across his chest, breathing sticky, bourbon-scented air at him. “Thank you, Jay.”

Jason patted his hair and took a swig from the bottle. He tried to make the warm, pleasant feeling in his chest go take up residence someplace else. He wanted to drive it away completely; it was dangerous to feel so content when they were in such a perilous situation.

It didn’t work though, and he drifted to sleep feeling strangely comforted by Dick’s warm weight and happy murmurings.


	31. Chapter 31

Sally was awakened by a strange noise. Her heart jumped into her throat and she scrabbled for her flashlight. She shone it over the room, and each shadow the light cast made her breath catch.

There was nothing there. Just the soft exhausted snores of Dr. Sanchez in the cot next to hers. Their accommodation was better than most, situated behind the building they used as a clinic. It had strong locks on the doors and benefited from working electricity – although they didn’t use it unless they had to. 

The sound that had awakened her came again: a wheezing hiss. Now fully awake, she could zero in on its location. It was coming from the floor at the end of her bed. Feeling conscious of the fact she was dressed only in her underwear and a T-shirt she scooted down and shone her light onto the floor. 

It was Robin. Curled into a fetal position and making quiet, pained noises. She realized he must be in agony if he was making any sound at all. 

And now she was going to have to make some hard choices. Not for the first time, she wished she had never left London. 

The situation in Gotham was changing; people were adapting, as they always did. For the most part the Anathema were leaving them alone – so long as they obeyed the 'Edicts' written up all over the city, and blasted out of speakers surrounding the strong-holds of the Anathema troops. Rule 13 was: 'No Meta’s, no vigilantes.' The reward for giving them up had increased to the point that decent people might seriously consider it – if only for the sake of their families. Of course, the punishments had become worse too, barbaric, public torture and murder. A slow agonizing death for the vigilantes and anyone suspected of hiding them. Even a whisper of suspicion could bring you to their attention, and most people put to the Question did not return. 

Despite her fear, there was no doubt in Sally’s mind that she was going to help him. She was a doctor first and foremost, and the two Bat boys were quickly becoming her weak spot. She was fairly sure one of them was going to get her killed at some point, and also fairly sure it would probably be worth it. 

The only question about her current predicament was whether she could risk treating Robin in the clinic, and if not, would he even live long enough to take him elsewhere? 

She decided to diagnose here, and then worry about treatment. Very carefully she pulled the boy onto her bed, and working as quietly as she could, so as not to wake Dr Sanchez, she gave him a quick once over. There were no obvious wounds, but he was making intermittent whining sounds, and his hands were clutching at his body, with no indication where the pain was coming from. 

Making a quick decision, one that he might hate her for later, she started to undress him, being careful of his suit's defenses – the kids had warned her about that, just in case of a situation like this. Once he was stripped to his underpants, he was just another orphan boy in need of help. One sporting rather more scars than the average ten year old, but hopefully she wouldn’t have to come up with a story to explain that. She hesitated before pulling off his mask. It was the worst betrayal of trust, but it could save both their lives if someone were to enter the surgery unannounced. The boy was semi-conscious, but he didn’t seem to be fully aware of his surroundings. His pupils were uneven and his eyes rolled behind his half closed lids. She hid his clothes under the bed, feeling like a fool; she would have to do a more through job later.

Carefully she picked him up and slipped though the door into the clinic. 

She found the problem quickly. He had been shot by a dart, and there was a small but inflamed puncture mark just behind his left ear. Luckily for him, it looked like it had bounced off his hard head and he probably hadn’t received a full dose of what ever was on it. As far as she was aware, the Anathema were currently using two formulas to bring down and incapacitate their enemies, a quick swab of the entry point should give her an answer as to which it was – they had named the two compounds AD3 and AD4, she was hoping they were dealing with AD4 – it would result in increasing pain for Robin, but she could administer some relief, as well as the three doses of the antidote he needed. If it was caught in time then he would suffer no more than twenty four hours, and make a full recovery. If it was AD3, then the prognosis was less good. 

She tried very hard not to look at the kids bare face as she waited for the results.

 

AD4 – her relief at seeing the solution of chemicals turn blue almost knocked the breath out of her. There was no time to dwell on it though, since she had to move onto the next issue: it would take time to administer the drugs, and it just wasn’t safe to keep him here. The problem was, she wasn’t strong enough to carry him back to his home. Not alone anyway, and there was only one man she would trust with this boy's life and identity — and that of his brother, too.

She gave Robin a sedative and tucked a blanket around him, as she prayed that Dr. Sanchez wouldn’t wake while she was gone. Then she crept through the clinic and into the long winding corridors that led to Gordon’s quarters. 

His room was dark and still, and for a moment Sally feared he was gone or worse. “Jim?” she called quietly, knocking softly on the door. 

There was a rustle of cloth before Gordon’s sleep-roughed voice called out to her, “Sally?” 

She breathed deeply in relief, for what felt like the millionth time that night – she was ridiculously jumpy. “Jim, we have a problem, I need your help.” 

He came to the door, sleep-mussed and dressed in a ratty old t-shirt. 

“Robin is in my quarters. He’s sick and needs care, but I’m afraid to keep him here,” she said. 

“Hold on,” he grumped at her, and disappeared back into the room, cussing quietly as he moved about in the dark.

He emerged fully dressed, if a little rumpled. “How bad?” he asked.

“Treatable, but not pleasant. I need to take him home, but I can’t do it alone.”

Gordon nodded. “I’ll let my second know I’ll be MIA for a few hours – make the kid as comfortable as possible and I'll come to your rooms. We can take my bike.”

“Thank you, Jim.” Sally caught his arm as he turned to leave. “I took his mask off,” she admitted. She felt it was important for him to be prepared. 

He looked at her, assessing. “Why tell me that?” 

“You are the only person I trust – they trust you, but I felt you should know, before you see him.”

Jim nodded. “Let’s keep it between us, not that it matters much any more.”

 

Back in her quarters Sally stuffed Robin’s clothes into a backpack and wrapped him in blankets like he was a bedraggled kitten. The boy didn’t wake. 

When he arrived, Gordon helped her bundle Robin onto the back of the bike. Sally had to hold him in place while Jim drove – it was an awkward and nerve-wracking journey. 

There was a communicator hidden by a storm drain, a couple of miles from the cave at her best guess. She used it when ever she needed to gain access to treat 'Jack'. 

Jack answered immediately when she used the communicator to contact him– Robin had obviously missed a check-in, and his brother had been anxiously waiting.

“Yes?” Jack said down the line.

“It's Sally. Jim Gordon and I have Robin —”

“Is he ok?” Jack broke in, worry straining his voice.

“He will be, he needs treatment and bed rest – I didn’t want to treat him at the clinic, so Jim helped me bring him to you.” 

Jack exhaled, then coughed. “Thank you, Sally. I’ll open the gate for you now.” 

“I took his mask off,” Sally blurted. With the world in ruins it felt silly to be so upset about exposing their secret identities, but it hadn’t been something that had been offered – she had removed that option. It was for a good reason, but she felt inexplicably guilty.

“I understand,” Jack said quietly. “I’m just happy he’s going to be ok.”

The iron grate over the storm drain began to lift. At her direction, Gordon lifted Robin in his arms – they were going to have to walk from here.

 

Jack was waiting for them by the entrance. For the first time he was fully unmasked; with Robin’s identity already exposed there apparently wasn’t any point in hiding. He smiled ruefully at her as they entered the cool dark of the main space of the Bat Cave. 

“Tim,” Gordon greeted the boy, clearly not surprised in the least. “How are you feeling, lad?”

“Commissioner, it's good to see you.” Jack – Tim, replied, ignoring the inquiry after his health. He looked pale and thin, and there were tight lines of pain around his eyes. 

Tim tuned to her. “Is my brother ok, Dr. Sally? I can’t thank you enough for bringing him here – I know it’s a risk.”

“He will be, but let's get him in bed, then I can keep an eye on him until he wakes. He needs three sets of injections which I can give him at hourly intervals to reduce the amount of pain they will cause him.” 

He smiled at her, and her heart ached for both of these lost boys. She couldn’t help but wonder when they had become _her_ lost boys.

Once she had Robin settled and had administered his first round of jabs, she smoothed back his sweaty black hair. He was a handsome kid, with strong, even features and fine olive skin. She wished, not for the first time, that the worst he had to deal with in his future was developing a few zits and suffering some teenage angst. 

 

Back in the main room of the cave she rejoined Tim and Gordon. 

“Dr. Sally, I should—" Tim began, before breaking into a wet, painful sounding cough. 

Gordon winced and rubbed a hand over his slightly overgrown mustache. 

Tim stuck out his hand for her to shake. “I should introduce my self again. Tim Drake, nice to meet you with my real name!”

“The pleasure is all mine, Tim,” Sally smiled.

 

The room was dominated by the large computer screens – and she suddenly realized that for the first time since she first visited the cave, the screens were active. A small, hopeful green light was giving out a steady beat.

Tim sat at the imposing computer and tapped a few buttons. The screens flickered to life.

“You fixed it,” Sally breathed.

“Technically it wasn’t broken, I just had to work out a way to use it without it being detected by _them_.”

“Oh, is that all?”

Tim grinned at her before coughing into a scrap of cloth and absently wiping blood from his lips. “In some ways its good you’re here and Robin – Damian,” Tim corrected himself, “is out of range of the conversation.”

Gordon lifted a bushy brow, and Sally couldn’t help but wonder how long he had known who these kids were, his easy familiarity made her suspect it was some time. 

Tim tapped some more keys and a series of random letters and numbers appeared on the screen. “As soon as the system was up and running we started to receive a distress call – it’s encoded in one of our encryptions – only a select few know it.”

Gordon rubbed a hand over his face again. “Do you think its genuine?”

“There’s no way to tell –it is of course possible the code has been… extracted from someone. The message itself is only sending, I haven’t had a response. Just the same message over and over.”

“What are the possibilities?” Gordon asked. Sally could hear the doubt and the hope warring in his voice.

“It could be a trap,” Tim said, counting down on his fingers, “it could be an old message –its senders now dead or gone. It could be civilians having been given the code in an effort to save them. Or it could be one of us.”

“What do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Tim sighed. “Despite all his protests to the contrary, Damian is still desperately hoping someone is still alive out there. And he’s going to follow this signal, whether I like it or not. It's not like I can stop him," he added with a bitter laugh. 

“He can’t go!” Sally burst out – sending a child, however capable, was just not acceptable.

“You think you can stop him?” Tim asked.

And wasn’t that just the problem. “No, no I can’t, but he shouldn’t go alone.”

Tim nodded, giving her a shrewd look. She really hated those looks he gave her, the ones that made her realize a dying sixteen year old could be her intellectual equal. And she had been third in her class at Cambridge. It made her feel proud of him, even though he wasn’t her child - her anything, really. And it made her throat tight and pained to think that she just didn’t have the resources to save him. A year ago, with some luck, money and skill – she could have done it. 

Gordon was scowling, but he was reluctantly nodding. “What does the message say, is its signal moving, or stationary – where is it from?”

“Northwest, and it’s been stationary for the two days I’ve been picking it up. The message is simple – SOS, medical needed.”

“Shit,” Gordon said succinctly. “I can spare one, maybe two folks who can be trusted – that’s it.”

“I’ll go.” Sally heard herself say, and she saw Tim’s lips twist into the shadow of a smile – he _so_ knew she was going to say that. Little smart arse. 

“What about the clinic?” Gordon asked.

“Dr. Sanchez is very capable, she has experience in the military too – and it won’t be for long.” She hoped.

“But-” Gordon began.

“So it’s settled,” Tim said, cutting off any further protest. “In a day or two, I will have the long range communicators set up, so I can guide you and warn if there is any change in the signal.”

“Confident little bugger isn’t he?” Sally said to Gordon, with a smirk.

Gordon huffed a laugh. “You think this is bad? You should have tried working with the big guy!” 

“So!” Tim beamed at her. “When Rob – Damian, is recovered, and the Commissioner has sorted out his troops, you can set off. I think three days should be sufficient? It gives us time to monitor the signal too.”

“If you will excuse me?” Sally said, she was feeling a little railroaded, and a bit excited too – it had been a long time since she had been out in the field. “I have to go and administer Damian’s next jab.”

They nodded at her and she rose to make her way to the sleeping area. This was going to be one hell of a mission. Behind her she could hear Gordon asking Tim about the range of the computer, whether he could contact Jim’s daughter in England. 

Damian was resting quietly, still under the affects of the sedative. But he would soon be in agony. The antidote burned the toxin out, causing extreme joint pain, fever and gastrointestinal difficulties. 

She held his sweaty little hand after she administered the drug, ready to comfort him  
though the pain.


	32. Chapter 32

It had been raining heavily for two days, so heavily they had taken shelter in an abandoned farmhouse. For the first time in weeks they were sleeping in beds, and there was running water and even electricity. 

It was amazing, a taste of the past.

Dick had parked himself next to the stereo and hadn’t stopped listening to music – he had tried every CD in the house, from the kids' pop to old time, gravelly blues. 

Music had always been a part of Jason’s life¬, not in any special way – it had always been in the background and had just been something he had accepted as normal, taken for granted. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed it, or how evocative it was, the memories it dredged up. 

Dick was entranced, he looked happy, blissful. But every now and again something flicked across his face - an emotion drawn out by the music. It seemed to disturb him on some level. Jason suspected it might be the edge of a memory and was torn between encouraging him in the hope it would bring something back and chucking the stereo out the window for the same reason.

It seemed to Jason that since meeting Dick in Old Gate he had done nothing but wrestle with moral dilemmas. His most current one was the realization he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ Dick to regain his memory. The relationship he had with 1457 was the closest he had been to another person emotionally since he could remember. He didn’t want to lose that to the real Dick Grayson, who he was fairly sure didn’t like him much.

He also knew these thoughts were irrational and selfish. Didn’t stop him battling with them though. 

Fahim was no help either.

“Can you boys just fuck?” The old man griped at him, as he washed the dishes after dinner. “Or if that’s not romantic enough for you, can you make your pledge of true love or some shit? I’m getting so sick of watching you make tragic puppy dog eyes at each other.”

Jason scowled at him. “I don’t make puppy dog eyes at anyone, old man.”

Fahim snorted. “Hate to break it to you Jase, but you sure as shit do.” He scrubbed at a plate and shot Jason a look from under his bushy brows. “How would you feel if we got shot tomorrow? Wasted opportunities.” 

“We’re not going to get shot tomorrow,” Jason growled irritably. “Although I might shoot you if you don’t shut up.” 

“I wish you would, put me out of my misery at having to watch you two pine over each other like lovesick school girls!”

“Fuck off.”

“Just think about it.”

“Won’t,” Jason said petulantly, and yeah, now he sounded like a school kid all right. He looked at where Dick was once again welded to the stereo; the soft sounds of someone singing about lost love thankfully covered his and Fahim’s conversation. Jason was getting this shit from all sides – he was only trying to do what was right by Dick, but the whole fucking universe seemed to be against him. On one hand the old man complaining and telling him to 'just fuck the boy!' And Dick, who despite having his own bed in the house, still insisted on sleeping tucked up against Jason’s side, his presence a warm comfort and a form of mild torture both at once. He had taken to kissing Jason good night – chastely, so far, but Jason was finding it hard to fight against it. He could almost forget his own arguments with the firm press of Dick’s lips against his own.

He was doomed. 

The only way to deal with it was to talk to Dick about it, but he was fairly sure that it was against his religion to bring up a topic in which he was supposed to not just talk about his feelings, but also wear his heart on his sleeve. He just didn’t think he could do it. 

Dick could though. And when Jason saw Fahim patting his brother on the arm and talking to him in hushed tones, he knew he was screwed.

 

The conversation didn’t happen until later. Jason was sprawled casually on the bed - at least he hoped he looked casual. In fact his whole body was thrumming with tension and he had read the same page in his book at least three times as he waited for Dick to make his move. His brother was sitting by the window, watching the rain, seemingly content in the quiet. It was driving Jason to distraction and eventually he couldn’t take it any more. “Just say what’s on your mind, Dick!”

Dick looked surprised at his outburst. “How'd you mean?”

“You and the old man gossiping down stairs, what were you talking about?” 

A sly smirk tugged up the corner of Dick’s generous mouth. “You, Jaybird.”

“Yeah, but what?”

“He suddenly seems very keen that we consummate our tragic love.”

Jason scrubbed a hand over his face, and threw his book at the wall. Dick grinned at his discomfort, and shuffled closer. “I like the guy, I really do, but I wish he would make up his mind about me. One moment I’m the devil incarnate, the next he’s playing matchmaker. It weirds me out,” Dick said.

“Me too, trust me,” Jason sighed. 

There was an awkward pause, where Dick stared at him and Jason studiously ignored him. He wished he hadn’t thrown his book away so he could hide behind it. 

Dick cleared his throat. “So, how you feel about me?”

Jason rolled his eyes so hard they hurt. “You’re my brother, and I am-” he searched for a word, “-surprisingly fond of you, despite our history and the fact you are an idiot.”

Dick took a moment to digest that, and then he looked Jason straight in the eye. “Liar,” he said. And Jason was caught like a rat in a trap. Dick moved towards him, slow enough that Jason could stop him if he wanted, if his mind hadn't been gibbering with confused, push-pull feelings. Dick kissed him— not a chaste goodnight kiss, but a long, slow wet kiss, and Jason’s mouth opened under the warm onslaught without his brain's permission. Dick deepened the kiss with a pleased hum, and Jason’s cock perked up in interest. 

Fucking penis had a mind of its own.

After an apparent eternity, Dick pulled back. He was delightfully disheveled and his eyes had a heavy-lidded satisfied look to them. “More than brotherly feelings I think,” he said.

Jason closed his eyes. “Not fair, asshole,” he groaned, and willed his erection to go away so he could think clearly. “You seem to have forgiven me for not telling you of our family connection,” he said somewhat spitefully. He just needed space enough to think.

“Yes. Mostly because I don’t believe it, not in the way you implied.” 

Jason cracked open an eye and glared. “Denial isn’t going to make it not true.”

“You used it to hurt me, drive me away from being so close to you.”

“Oh, so me being an asshole is fine?”

“No, it was a shitty move, but a forgivable one – you were feeling threatened and you reacted.”

“Dick, there are reasons for and against… us being closer. But the negatives outweigh the positives.” He paused to try to collect his thoughts. “I would love to give you what you want, to make you happy. And I want it for myself too. You drive me fucking mad, and I want you like I haven’t wanted anybody for years.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, surprised at his own honesty. “I’ve always wanted you, in some way, or wanted to be you. But don’t you get it?” Jason was aware that his voice was rising. It just wasn’t _fair_. “I wanted you, but you never, ever would have wanted me. I can’t have sex with you, even kissing you is wrong in so many ways!”

“Jason —” Dick began.

“Shut up! Dick Grayson, the real one, would be horrified and angry – with me, with himself. I would be a fucking rapist, Dick! How can you even consider wanting me to do that to either of us!”

Dick was quiet, processing his outburst. Then he draped an arm over Jason’s tight, trembling shoulders and hugged him, even going so far to kiss him on the cheek. “I understand, and I promise to back off and stop pushing. I haven’t been considering your feelings.”

Typical kind, emotional Dick. It filled Jason with ridiculous warmth. 

“But—” Dick continued.

Jason’s lips twitched — this was also typical Dick; refusing to give up once his mind was set. As well as being emotionally needy, and emotionally manipulative. “But, do think about this,” Dick continued. “Who knows you better? Him, or me? Did he ever spend months by your side? Did he soothe you out of nightmares? Did he have to put up with your whining, your body odor and your rank farts?”

“Hey, my farts are as awesome as the rest of me, and you have no place to bitch about BO, you who refused to shower for over a week.”

“And your shitty sense of humor,” Dick carried on relentlessly. “Your stupid hair, your tendency towards mindless violence and your poor attempts at small talk?”

“Well, the violence, yeah, although it's not mindless! Most of the time anyway.”

“ _I_ have been there through all that, _me_ 1457, the new and improved Richard Grayson. And I love you. That should count for something too.”

Jason knew that; he would have to have been blind and stupid not to. Although he wasn’t sure how much he believed it, considering Dick’s mental state, but the words still hit him like a brick to the head.

“Do you want some kind of award for that moving speech?” Jason croaked. The best defense for discomfort was to activate asshole mode. 

But Dick _did_ know him, and saw through him in an instant. He shrugged off the snide remark.

“You’re so predictable, Jay,” Dick grinned at him, “Oh no! It’s a feeling I can’t handle! Better hit it with a baseball bat so it can’t get me!”

Jason punched his shoulder, hard. But Dick just laughed. “Got to do better than that, Jaybird!”

He wasn’t going to win this argument without pulling out the big guns, and he had to take a moment to remind himself why he _wanted_ to win – Dick’s snorting laugh was great to hear. 

“All right you bring up several good points, but I think my original statement still stands. On top of that there are other, pretty important reasons.”

“Like?”

“Like Steve and his commands.”

Dick balanced and Jason felt like a shit for bringing this crap up when Dick seemed so relaxed and genuinely happy, but it wasn’t something that could be left out of this conversation.

“What about him?” 

“You know what. You were commanded, _compelled_ to take care of me, to protect me – you killed a guy in a blind rage when it wasn’t necessary.” Jason remembered the time he had kicked off in the lab, when Steve had looked pleased with the outburst. He couldn’t help feeling morbid curiosity as to whether that had been some kind of a test.

“It's over Jay, I’m beyond his reach. Thanks to you and Fahim, and I can never thank either of you enough for that.”

Jason opened his mouth but Dick jabbed a finger at him. “And that doesn’t mean I’m thinking of sleeping with you just to show my gratitude! You should know me better than that!”

Jason nodded and eyed Dick’s finger with suspicion; it looked like it might go for his eye at any misstep. “Yeah, ok,” he said. “But the fact is you were conditioned, and there is no proof that you aren’t being influenced by that.”

“Jason, if you aren’t interested, if you don’t want this – whatever it is that we have or could have, then just say so. I won’t break.”

And Jason just exploded, as stupid and volatile as he always was in these situations. He twisted on top of Dick, caught his wrists and wound his ankles around his calves, holding him down. He leant his full weight against Dick’s body, and felt him flinch. There was a flicker of panic in his eyes.

“Is this what you want Dick?” Jason rolled his hips slightly, resisting Dick’s struggles. “Is it? This?”

Dick went limp and blinked, as Jason watched he seemed to fight back his reactions and his fear and then he looked straight into Jason’s eyes, and for the second time in the evening he was caught in a trap.

“No, I don’t want that Jason. I don’t know if I want or can handle sex. But I know you aren’t going to hurt me or force me – I _know_. All I want is to be close to you, to be allowed to show you how I feel, since you are so useless at hearing it.” He looked up, unashamed and unafraid and the images from the past hit Jason full on. 

The other reason he couldn’t do this wasn’t something he had ever wanted to discuss – but the lead-in was right here. 

On top of that, the fact was he couldn’t be fucking trusted, and Dick was naive and stupid, just asking to be hurt. 

Jason pushed his face into the pillows by Dick’s head. His brother grunted at the added pressure on his wrists, but he didn’t struggle. 

“"You don't know shit. After all the lies and fucked-up crap I put you through, you _still_ trust me? Why the hell would you do that?" His voice had risen to a shout, but he couldn’t tone it down; he was so full of anger and confusion. He was used to his emotions fluctuating wildly, he was used to dealing with all that, but right now he felt out of his depth. 

“I trust you Jay. I don't know why, I just do.”

“Well, you fucking shouldn’t!” Jason yelled. “I’ve hurt people before, stupid innocent fools like you!”

“Is this to do with the guy you mentioned you almost slept with?”

Fuck his intuition. “Just fucking leave it!”

Dick twisted a hand out of Jason’s lax grip and stroked his hair. “No, I think you should tell me. I know how you feel about sexual violence. I know you aren’t talking about that. I want to know, and I think maybe it will be good for you to talk about.”

“Oh it will, will it?” He couldn’t keep the bite out of his voice. 

“Yeah, Jason” Dick scrubbed his fingers though Jason’s hair again. It felt good, disarming. “You act like you're afraid of intimacy,” Dick continued, ignoring Jason's frozen expression. “You make like you're scared of emotional intimacy. I hate to break it to you Jay, but you and me, we're already tightly bound. It’s physical intimacy you are freaking out about.”

Jason collapsed against Dick’s chest. He was being laid bare, and it hurt. His head was spinning. 

“I know you aren’t frightened of me hurting you, of me doing anything to you, so I can only assume your fear is about you hurting me. And I trust you Jaybird. I know you won’t do anything to me.”

“Oh, you think that?” Jason ground out between his clenched teeth. “I did it before, why would you be any fucking different!”

“Will you tell me?” Dick asked gently.

“Yeah.” Jason pushed his face into the pillow. He didn’t want to remember. Even after all he had suffered in the last six months, all he had seen, this still had the power to undo him, to crush him. And he desperately tried to push the past away.

“What happened, Jay?” Dick’s voice was soft and smooth, full of genuine compassion. 

“He was just some stupid kid, college student I think,” Jason heard himself say. He remembered the boy clearly: plain-looking features, brown hair, bright blue eyes and a cheeky smile. They had hit it off in a bar. It had been unusual for Jason to bother chatting to a civilian, preferring to read his book and sip his beer in solitude. But the kid's easy confidence and smile had reeled him in. Jason had been reading The Master and Margarita – the boy, Marc, had commented on the book and they had fallen into a heated discussion of 20th century Russian literature. When Marc casually invited him back to his apartment Jason had accepted. It was not the sort of thing he usually did. He had never really been with a man before, not like this, and he had been surprised and pleased by the rush of affectionate lust that ran though him at the possibilities. He remembered thinking he was not as broken as he had thought. 

But he had been wrong.

He didn’t know how to put any of that into words, so he went for the bare bones instead. “Went back with him, had a few beers before we started making out. We were getting into it, and it was good. I felt —” He felt like he had been a starving man offered a feast. Sex, touch, laughing intimacy – everything he had refused himself. “It was good, but then the next thing I know he’s bleeding on the floor and I’m sitting there covered in blood. I don’t remember what I did.”

Dick didn’t look like he was judging him when Jason sneaked a look at him out the corner of his eye. He looked compassionate and intent and he didn’t push for more, but Jason elaborated anyway. “It wasn’t a bit of blood from a punch in the nose, it was bad. I beat him so hard I don’t even know if he lived. I checked he was breathing, called an ambulance and got the hell out. I can’t risk that loss of control.”

“You had a black-out like that during the fight with Benson,” Dick said, into the quiet following Jason’s confession. “You were frenzied, and afterward you looked so confused, so blank.” 

“Yeah, I don’t remember what I did then either. But Benson wasn’t innocent, he was a rapist and a murderer – he made me angry. Marc was just a dumb horny kid, he didn’t do anything wrong at all. “

“Benson didn’t just make you angry, he scared you. You were frightened he was going to hurt me, scared that after that, he was going to hurt you.”

“What are you getting at, Dickface?”

“Something Marc did scared you. He probably didn’t mean it, but it flipped some defense mechanism in your head and you acted to protect yourself.” 

“And that changes what exactly?”

“I’m not some kid you met in a bar. We are more or less physical equals if it comes to a fight, but most importantly we can prepare for it – using this nifty thing called communication. If we're heading for risky territory we can be ready to deal with it.” 

“We are not physical equals, I’m bigger and stronger!”

“And I’m faster and more flexible. Stop avoiding the issue.”

“Why do you keep pushing this, Dick? When I keep giving you good reasons to leave it alone?”

“Because I’m selfish. Because I want you to be sure of your reasons – they aren’t as good as you would like to think. Because you want to have this _thing_ with me as much as I want it from you, and with all the shit going on around us we deserve something good.” He sighed. “But you’re right, I’ve said my piece – the ball's in your court. No more pushing from me, I’ll accept whatever you decide, whenever you decide it.”

“I know, thanks.”

“Can I still sleep in here?” Dick asked, and he still sounded easy and compassionate. 

“Of course Dickiebird.” Jason drew him close. He thought about Marc. Confessing what had happened had been cathartic in a way, but he was still filled with uneasy guilt that he thought would always be with him. If he hurt Dick that way, if he lost control of the maelstrom of rage and lust and insidious fear that boiled under the surface, he knew he could, _would_ never forgive himself. He couldn’t risk it. 

 

Fahim was on watch; the boys had become quiet, after some shouting – which seemed par for the course when Jason felt he had to discuss something uncomfortable. And a peek into their shared room revealed them sleeping tangled together like they always did. Morons. He sighed and trooped back down the stairs to the kitchen. He'd had a long time to reflect on love in the past thirty years, whether what he had done had been worth it. He had been young and stupidly besotted. But she had been with someone else, and Fahim had known, the first time he'd laid eyes on the bastard. His sharp intuition had told him the guy was bad news, and he had been. When Fahim had killed the fucker he had lost her forever. But he had loved her enough to set her free. He had known that he could live with losing her, if it meant she could live the life he would no longer have.

He was a sentimental old fool, but the old adage 'better to have loved and lost than to have never have loved at all’ was something of a mantra. And he wanted Jason to have it, even if he had to lose it. 

Fahim knew Jason thought he was soft in the head; he had wondered if he was himself. Was he mad? Had what The Anathema done to him caused a psychotic break?

Or had it just revealed something that was already there? He had always felt the measure of a person when he first met them, and now he could just see that feeling. And it felt right. He knew Dick was a good person, or had been, and a blind man could see how he felt about Jase. But there was a darkness in him, something _they_ had done. And something frightening had been happening; the darkness had begun mingling with Jason’s light, sucking it in, twisting it up. 

It had to stop. 

Like Lizzy, all those years ago. Even though Jason would hate him, might even kill him, it was the right thing to do. But before he did what he had to, he wanted the boys to love each other. Love was a rare gift, and they deserved it. Jase deserved to have those memories; in ten, twenty years he would appreciate them.

Fahim had given up most his life to save his first great love, and he was willing to give up the rest to save a boy he loved like a son. 

Even if it earned his hate.

Even if it cost him his life.


	33. Chapter 33

“Jason, wake up!”

Jason snapped out from a dream of Bruce reading the paper as Alfred tutted over Jason’s messy homework. The smell of coffee and the feel of warm sunlight lingered as he woke. Dick was leaning over him, his voice was hushed and sharp and his body was tense.

“What?” Jason asked, adrenaline jumping though his body at the expression on Dick’s face.

“We have company.” 

 

It was impossible to tell at this distance if the half-hidden figures were Anathema or humans. A rough count revealed at least fifteen of them, so either way they were woefully out numbered. Before the fall, a dozen or so people would have been a doozy for the Red Hood and Nightwing, but now they didn’t know what they were going to have to contend with – Anathema tech and weaponry was still something of an unknown quantity and even if they were all armed with regular guns, the ammo Jason and Dick had collected wouldn’t stand up to it. 

“What do you think?” Jason whispered to Dick, as they peeked out of the bedroom window. 

“I think we're fucked,” Dick said in a tight voice, as he squinted through the darkness outside. “Why aren’t they moving? What are they waiting for?”

As if in response to Dick’s question, Fahim’s agitated voice sounded from the other bedroom, “They’re advancing this side!”

“Shit,” Jason muttered, his fingers tightened on the gun in his hands. “Stay here and watch this lot.” He slid silently into the room where Fahim was watching, stiff and silent. Below a group of five had split off from the rest and was ghosting through the shadows towards the house. 

“Plan?” Fahim asked.

Jason’s mind was whirring; the calm of battle was falling over him and he was assessing his options almost automatically. It came down to shoot now or ambush. There was a part of him that suggested that, tactically, picking off a few now would increase their chances later, but there was a nagging doubt – why would the Anathema bother sneaking up on the three of them? To take Jason alive maybe? There was a small possibility these were humans – and he would rather avoid killing other refugees if he could. 

“They’re moving this side too,” Dick called quietly.

“We can’t stop them getting into the house, there are two doors not to mention the windows. But there's only one way up the stairs, and only two can come up at a time. If they’re hostile we can thin them out as they come for us,” Jason said.

Dick nodded and took up a position opposite him, with an easy view of the stairs. Jason heard the crack of the back door being jimmied, and the creak of sound as it opened. His heart was beating rapidly. Being taken again was unthinkable; he hadn’t realized how scared he was of that happening until now, when he was staring the possibility in the face. 

He listened as the raiders moved swiftly through the lower floors of the house. They didn’t speak, but they seemed to be working efficiently from both doors to the middle, probably clearing each room. Eventually Jason could see motion on the stairs. He looked at Dick. Shoot to kill or to warn? Dick shook his head – he must have had the same doubts as Jason.

Simultaneously sending out a short prayer and cussing himself out as a fool Jason fired a warning shot into the stairwell. There was a flurry of movement then silence. Jason considered a sarcastic remark, but he was just too fucking tense. 

“Whoever’s up there, put down your weapons or we’ll burn you fuckers out!” A gravely male voice called from downstairs. 

Jason released a huge breath. The man’s words had a very distinctive New York accent. 

People. Humans. 

“We’ll consider it if ya tell us who we'd be surrendering to,” Jason called back, letting the Gotham streets color his voice.

“Eastsiders,” the man said, like that should mean something. “You’re in our territory.”

“Just passing through,” Jason yelled down, he felt almost of familiar ground now, negotiations and adrenalin – normal things for the Red Hood, much better than the crushing fear Jason Todd seemed to feel all the fucking time.

“How many of you up there?” A woman’s voice this time.

“Three. We didn’t mean any harm, just looking to shelter from the rain.”

“It’s a bitch this time of year,” someone else agreed. 

“Shut up, Amir,” another muttered.

Dick was smirking at him. People they could deal with, even angry ones, as long as they were willing to talk. 

“Name’s Jason,” Jason said, “I’m gonna come down – if you shoot me, my buddy up here will kill a bunch of you in return, okay?” May as well be honest about it. 

“Slowly,” New York said, and Jason could hear the safety come off a gun in the darkness below.

Jason kept his hands up, but he didn’t relinquish his gun. In the dim light he could make out a group of about six people waiting just beyond the stairwell. They examined each other carefully, looking for signs of a trap. 

“What are you doing here, Jason,” New York asked. He was a well-built man in his early forties, he had a close cut beard, dirt under his nails and his hands held a shotgun in a sure grip.

“Just passing through, as I said. You’re the first folks we've seen in a while, I assumed you had all gone.”

“Not far. We look after our own, the houses aren’t safe; the fuckers come every now and again, take everyone under thirty – at least the ones that don’t put a bullet in their brains first.” 

That was hardly news to Jason. He didn’t want to know what was in store for the taken. By the look on New York’s face, neither did he. “Children?” Jason heard himself ask, although he dreaded the answer.

New York looked grim. “Kill the babies and take the mothers. Take the teenagers, kill the toddlers.” He spat on the floor, and at least one person in the waiting groups breathing had gone ragged. Jason suspected everyone here had lost someone.

“What now?” Jason asked. 

“You tell us where you’ve been and where you’re going.” 

“And what you’ve seen,” a woman added. Scowling at him distrustfully.

“We’ve come from up north and were heading south,” Jason told them unhelpfully. “We’ve seen a lot of abandoned towns and farms. Seen a lot of dead, further up the coast.” He pointed vaguely. 

“Seen any of them?”

“No, although it is obvious where they’ve been. We’ve been lucky so far.” He shrugged and gave them a slight grin. “We would appreciate any help and news you have – but if you want us off your patch, just point us in the right direction.”

New York gave him another long look. “Come back to camp. We have a common enemy, we can share intel before you go on your way. Call down your friends.”

Jason glanced up and caught Dick’s eyes, before slowly moving down the stairs. Dick and Fahim followed cautiously. 

“You got a name?” Jason asked New York

“Let’s do introductions later. You got gear?”

Jason nodded and two of the Eastsiders slipped past them up the stairs, while others continued to search the house – this time for useful items and food rather than people. Jason and the others were lead into the yard, where the distrustful looking woman blindfolded them with more care than Jason would have expected from her stony stare and tense features. 

Being blindfolded was better than being shot, but it was not something he was at all pleased about. It was a vulnerability he wasn’t sure he was prepared to cope with, after the rolling fear from earlier. He forced himself not to lash out. “I feel like I’m in a fucking movie,” Jason grumbled instead.

The woman snorted, “Yeah, a horror movie. It’s not far, and there will be a hot drink at the end of it.”

It was not a pleasant journey. Jason’s anxiety was at peak levels and the blindfold gave him a feeling of claustrophobia. He felt like he was suffocating. 

And it was raining again. 

Judging by the size of the hand on his shoulder his guide was a woman. But Jason didn’t try to engage her in any conversation; he was concentrating too hard on not freaking out, or ripping off the blindfold and running into the woods. Dick didn’t seem to have the same problem through and Jason could make out his soft voice conversing with someone, although the rain-washed away the words. He focused on the sound - he wasn’t alone. 

 

The Eastsiders camp was in the deep part of the forest, where the trees were close and the rain slid though in large, noisy drops. As they entered the blindfolds were removed and Jason blinked stupidly in the dim light. There was a combination of tents and tarp covered hammocks slung between the trees, and Jason counted at least thirty people as they passed, men, woman and children peering anxiously at them.

It wasn’t quite Sherwood Forest, but it was close thing. They were led to the center of a small clearing, where a small group of men and woman had succeeded in keeping a fire going, something Jason was glad of in his wet clothes. To the right of him he could see Fahim shivering in the damp air - the last thing they needed was for the old man to catch a chill.

“Do you have any dry clothes?” Jason asked his escort politely, gesturing towards Fahim’s hunched form. 

The young woman bit her lip and nodded, “I’ll see what I can find.” 

She was as good as her word, and in short order they were dry, dressed in warm clothes and drinking bitter black coffee from battered mugs. They hadn’t been given privacy to change, and Dick and Jason’s scars had raised more than a few eyebrows. 

“So?” New York said, examining them all closely.

Jason blew on his coffee and watched the steam curl. “Quite the set up you got here,” he said. “Do you and your merry men move camp often? How do you avoid the Anathema?”

“The raids are fewer now. They can’t find us as easy.”

“Bull,” Jason said, and Dick smacked him on the arm. Jason ignored him. “If they wanted to find you they would – even one of our inferior helicopters could track you with no problems – you think the Anathema don’t have the tech for it?”

“Quite the mouth on you, boy,” New York growled at him.

Dick cleared his throat and smiled up guilelessly. “You learn to filter it out. And as he is too rude to say so, thank you for the coffee.”

New York grunted, but he looked a little mollified. “Names Keith,” he said.

“Dick, you know Jay, and that’s Fahim.” 

Keith nodded at them, “Now to business,” he said. “We need to know if you’re bringing trouble with you. Those are some scars you got there, boys.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, but Dick beat him to it. “We were in the army.”

“So was I, once upon a time, and my hide doesn’t look like that.”

“Special Ops,” Dick lied effortlessly, with just enough bite and reluctance in his voice. 

Keith didn’t look convinced, “You look young. Where were you posted?”

“Classified.” Dick looked like he was enjoying himself, and Jason hoped it wasn’t going to bite them in the ass.

“Not much point in keeping classified information these days.” Keith gestured at the swinging hammocks and the muddy people watching from the tree line. 

“It matters to me.” Dick said, and he was damn convincing. 

Keith stared intently at him for a moment, but then nodded. “Fair enough.” He looked thoughtful. “If what you say is true, we could use a pair of skilled men like yourselves – we got some farmers, a few cops and a few crack shots with a gun, but most of us are city folk, soccer mums, bankers and school teachers.”

“We would help if we could,” Dick said earnestly, “but I need to keep heading south to try and find my family.”

“It’s not a safe road,” Keith said. “It’s not just the Anathema you have to watch out for, a lot of people turned feral, violent and thieving.”

“We can handle ourselves,” Jason said gruffly.

“But we appreciate the warning,” Dick added quickly. The brown-nosing fucker.

And yeah, Jason knew he was acting out a bit, he didn’t like being penned in by these people - he didn’t trust them and didn’t much feel like cozying up to them. And he was getting seriously ticked off with Dick undermining him all the time. 

“Alright,” Keith said after giving Jason a long look that made him bristle defensively. “We have space for you tonight, pick up some food over to your right and Lucy will show you to your sleeping area.”

“Thanks Keith,” Dick said.

 

“Don’t be such a fucking suck-up,” Jason grumbled as they trudged towards the food tent. Jason wasn’t trying to ignore the young woman accompanying them, but he was much more interested in picking a fight with Dick.

Dick seemed to be sharing his mood. “Don’t antagonize people unnecessarily!” he said, poking Jason in the chest.

“We’re at their mercy here! I’m not going to let them take me off guard.”

“Exactly my point.” Dick waved an arm towards the camp. “We’re at their mercy, let’s not put their backs up unless we have to!”

“That’s not how shit works, amnesia boy!” 

Dick made an inarticulate, angry noise and punched Jason hard on the shoulder before stalking on ahead. This was probably one of those times they would have to come to blows to clear the air. Jason was rather looking forward to it; he really needed to punch someone, for his own peace of mind.

 

His mood soured further when he caught up with Dick in the tent. He was chatting to a young man, who was dolling out some kind of stew. For two people who had just met, one of whom had no fucking memory, they sure had plenty to talk about. Jason took his food and sat, glaring at the back of Dick’s head, as he remained standing, talking while he ate. 

The girl who had followed them in sat tentatively beside him. “I’m Lucy,” she said, offering him a hesitant smile.

“Jason,” Jason grunted, still glaring at Dick. 

Beside him, Fahim smiled at the girl, showing his gappy teeth. “Fahim. It’s nice to see some fresh faces after being on the road with these two morons. Useful in a fight, not so much to look at.”

“Hey!” Jason growled, and Lucy laughed. It was a good sound. Hell, the old man was right, it was nice to see people who weren’t dead, and to have some simple interaction with people who weren’t criminals. He tore his eyes away from Dick and grinned at Lucy. “Sorry, me and Dickie are overdue a fight and it makes me tetchy.”

“I understand, everyone is a bit on edge these days.”

“So, you guys are safe here?” Jason asked, digging into his stew. He didn’t trust Keith and another opinion would give him some extra insight. 

It wasn’t Lucy that answered though. “To a point.” Dick’s new friend set down his plate opposite Jason with a smile. “Not being tied to a town gives us some advantage, but they do systematically raid us. Mostly to break morale and insure were not mounting a counter attack or rebellion.”

“Like we could!” Lucy broke in. “We’re just managing to survive as it is, how could we ever hope to defeat them?”

It was a good question, and one that was never far from Jason’s mind. It did nothing for his mood. 

The young man opened his mouth to speak again, but Jason cut him off. “And you are?” he asked. He could actually feel Dick’s glare against his face, and if he tried to tell Jason off for using an aggressive tone of voice he was going to get punched. 

“Amir,” The young man said. Irritatingly, he didn’t seem intimidated or put off by Jason’s rudeness, he just grinned at Dick, who smiled back.

“He was my guide on the way here,” Dick explained. And that was clearly why they were already at ease with one another. Jason took an angry bite of stew, trying to reign in his temper. 

“How long have you been here?” Dick asked from beside him. Amir smiled warmly at him, it made his big brown eyes light up handsomely. Prick

“About four months, it was quite a shock living out here. Better than the city though.” His expression darkened, “it was bad there for a while, the Anathema rounding up and shooting people, and ordinary humans reverting back to a state of violent anarchy in the upheaval.”

“People are assholes,” Jason said. “The Anathema at least have the excuse of being evil alien sons of bitches.”

Lucy laughed. “You’re not wrong! The scariest thing is no one knows what they are or where they came from. All we've heard are rumors - most people haven’t even seen their faces up close. When they raid us they wear helmets.”

Dick finished licking stew off his spoon and lent forward, “They do that to scare people, the unknown is terrifying, and your imagination can easily create something worse than the reality.” He shrugged. “I’ve seen them unmasked, they look just like us.”

Amir nodded, “Me too. But I heard they take the form of the planet they’re conquering, then they can speak their language and stuff.”

“And how the fuck would someone know that?” Jason asked. “Did one of them explain it? Boast about it? Or is it a line of shit made up around a campfire somewhere?” 

“Jason, don’t be an ass!” 

Dick and Fahim were both glaring at him, and despite his bad temper and nagging anxiety Jason did the responsible thing and decided to take himself out of the situation before he started a real fight. “Right. I’m tired, I’m cold, and I want some sleep. Thanks for the food.” Jason turned towards Lucy and toned down the aggression in his voice. “Keith said there was space for us?” 

“Of course, follow me” Lucy said, and got up quickly, probably to try to avoid any further squabbles. As they left, Jason heard Dick apologizing for his behavior and bit back a snarl. Growling at the locals would probably not go down well, and Lucy already looked like she thought he might snap and bite her if she put a foot wrong. They trailed through the camp, with Lucy pointing out areas of interest. Their own patch was not large, but there was just enough space for three hammocks under the tarp provided. There was a blue bucket with a lid for use as a toilet during the night and a sleeping bag and a few ratty blankets. 

After thanking Lucy, Jason set up a hammock for himself and one for Fahim. Out of spite he didn’t bother with Dick’s, and he made sure he would be closest to the rain still pounding away outside of the shelter.

“So, soul-seer,” Jason asked Fahim, once they were bundled up in their gently swaying beds. “What do your elf eyes see?” 

“Don’t be an ass Jason,” Fahim grumped at him, then he paused to think. “Most seem like good people. Don’t trust Keith - I don’t think he’s a bad person as such, just that he would throw us to the dogs to save these people. Lucy and Amir are genuine and not harboring any ill intent.”

Jason grunted, his assessment was much the same. He didn’t like Amir or Keith, but he didn’t think they were necessarily bad. His thoughts drifted to the others they had seen in the camp, the children they had lost, and he shuddered. 

Fahim chuckled into the quiet. “Well, the fits of jealousy and bad temper are an improvement on lovesick mooning – but still very much in the region of ‘teenage schoolgirl'” He laughed one of his wheezy giggles. 

Jason scowled up at the tarp above his head. “Shut up, old man.”

 

It was another hour before Dick arrived back at the shelter and Jason had wound himself up in irritation and uncertainty. He had tried counting backwards from ten to calm himself and had reached about minus one thousand, one hundred and thirty four without any change in the level of simmering anger. 

He heard Dick cuss him out when he found his hammock and blankets getting wet on the floor and bit back a smirk. Dick, never one to let a few damp blankets hold him back, stalked towards him, but before Jason could say the antagonistic cutting words on the tip of his tongue Dick neatly flipped him out of his hammock leaving him in a swearing pile on the floor. Before he could retaliate Dick was on him, pushing him down onto the damp grass. Jason struggled, but the blankets still wrapped tight around him hampered his movements.

“Jason I know being captured by these guys scared you and you didn’t like the blindfolding, but don’t take it out on these people. You’re being unreasonable and unkind.”

“I am not!” Jason snapped. “I just don’t trust them, and you shouldn’t either. So far you have been a terrible judge of character!” Although, despite his agitation, Jason had to agree that his loss of control, over the situation to the Eastsiders might be affecting him and his temper _somewhat_. But he carried on regardless, too upset to pull himself back. “And that Amir guy, who the fuck smiles all the time in a place like this? Huh? What do you even have to talk about?”

“Whoa there, Jaybird. Amir? He’s the first nice, normal person I’ve met in six months! We were talking about music and things that weren’t about the end of the goddamn world!” Dick was glaring and breathing hard, his own temper rising to meet Jason’s. “Why the hell should it matter to you anyway?”

Because you’re _mine_. A dozen answers flashed though Jason’s mind, ranging from mildly creepy to flat out disturbing. He wisely said nothing. 

Something must have shown on his face though, because Dick’s eyes widened and he sat back a bit, allowing Jason to push himself up “Holly crap!” Dick pointed a finger at him “Jason Peter Todd, I do believe you’re jealous!” He started laughing, the shit.

“Am not!” Jason shot back, but he didn’t even convince himself, or Fahim apparently, who snorted from the hammock above them. 

“I hate you all.” 

 

Although Jason had gotten back into his bed and blankets in a huff, Dick had hopped in next to him, his magic acrobat abilities somehow saving him from tipping them both back out again. He had gone to sleep snickering to himself, much to Jason’s fond irritation. Despite his misgivings Jason felt better, although he couldn’t get to sleep. There was still something bugging him, even now, with Dick’s warm familiar weight against him, comforting and secure. 

At first he had thought it was the use of the name Todd – he had neglected to tell Dick his real name until they were out of the jail and Dick had been _very_ unimpressed to learn he had been lying about it. Every time he called him Todd since had a tone of accusation to it. Dick was a master at snide passive aggressive attacks, but this time he had been amused and pleased with himself. 

Jason pondered it some more, but it was only as he slid towards sleep he realized what was bothering him: he had never told Dick his middle name.


	34. Chapter 34

Jason hadn’t managed much sleep after Dick’s slip of the tongue. His mind was twisting and turning with possibilities and anxiety. He was once again faced with the moral dilemma of both wanting Dick’s memory to return and wanting him to stay like this. To stay in love with Jason. It wasn’t something he had ever experienced before, the way Dick loved him. It was wonderful and scary, a huge responsibility - both terrifying and validating. 

And tucked behind all those confusing feelings was a kernel of doubt. Why hadn’t he mentioned remembering things? Was he remembering unconsciously? Or was he holding back the extent of his recollections? Jason knew he would never have even considered that option before Fahim’s continuing mistrust. It lay like a layer of grime on his belly — suspicion and misgiving. 

Dick wasn’t helping. In the two days since they had arrived at the Eastsiders camp he had effortlessly assimilated into their life. He made friends and assisted in chores, leaving Jason looking like a sulky child when he refused. The crux of the problem was that Jason was growing increasingly doubtful over Keith’s motives. Partly because despite Jason’s obvious reluctance to integrate with the Eastsiders, Keith was still very keen on him joining. He suspected they were trying to manipulate him, to paint a picture of happy-clappy unity. There _was_ a warm togetherness about the place, but it was almost too much. He had the distinct impression they were trying to get him to drink the kool-aid before he noticed the inconsistencies. Unfortunately for them, Jason was not a man who bought into rhetoric easily. He had been keeping an ear to the ground – and he had hearing rumors there was going to be a raid. Against whom was unclear though, and that was worrying.

To make matters that much worse, Keith had forbidden them their weapons, even a knife for cooking. He had assured them they would be returned, but that didn’t help the itchy feeling between Jason’s shoulder blades. It was time to decide what to do – quietly. Thankfully, having a meeting with Dick was as simple as sliding into their hammock and pulling the blankets over their head. 

“So, thoughts?” Jason began. He was unsure the right way to approach this. 

Dick had no such issues. “I don’t think they are as benign as they seem,” he said without preamble. That surprised Jason, since he had thought that Dick was as thick as thieves with Lucy and bloody Amir. 

“How do you mean?” he asked in a low tone. 

“The people here are nice enough, but when I’m talking about certain subjects they seem evasive. Amir sounds like he is trying to justify something to himself.”

“This raiding business?” Jason was surprised at how less tense he felt knowing Dick was still with him, that he wasn't going to have to convince him – or worse, tell him his new buddies were not as awesome as they seemed. 

Dick nodded in the dark, his hair brushing against Jason’s face. “Yeah. I’m getting the feeling it’s not just empty houses – or else why would they be so hot to have good fighters join them?”

“They wouldn’t be stupid enough to go up against the Anathema with this rag-tag bunch, that would be suicide.” Jason couldn’t keep the sneer out of his voice.

“Exactly. I overheard Amir talking about some other group of survivors – the Red Stallions? Some stupid horse name anyway.” Dick scooted closer and yawned. “Apparently they are pretty aggressive and threatening. When I asked him about it he laughed it off and changed the subject.”

That matched up all too well with what Jason had been hearing – it was very worrying. They had enough shit to deal with without getting involved in the politics of some wilderness survivalist nutjobs. He absently stroked his fingers through Dick’s hair as he considered their options. “We should leave as soon as possible,” he said at last.

“Not sure that’s an option,” Dick said. He leaned into Jason’s touch like a sleepy kitten. 

“You don’t think they're going to let us?” 

“I think they’re a bunch of people who believe ‘you’re with us or against us’. No middle ground.” Dick signed, “No, I don’t think they are going to just let us go.”

“Fuck, I was hoping I was just being paranoid,” Jason muttered. Why was everything always so fucking complicated? “You think we should make a run for it?”

“We can take this bunch if it comes to that, but I think sneaking is our best option.” 

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, but his mind was already wondering to the rest of their problems. It seemed a fitting time to air some of his nagging questions, while Dick was vulnerable and on the edge of sleep. Just because he liked Dick, it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to use every advantage against him. 

“Dickie?” 

“Hmm?” Dick sounded like he was already half asleep.

“How come you knew my middle name?”

“Dunno, you must have told me.”

“I didn’t, I know I didn’t, I never told Fahim either.”

Dick shifted against him. “You think it came back to me?”

“Yeah, you remembered anything else?” Jason couldn’t hold back a feeling of trepidation as he asked.

Dick was quiet for a moment. “Just nightmares.”

“What sort of nightmares?” Jason shifted so he could see Dick’s face, although he could barely make it out in the dark. 

“I saw your body being buried, after you died,” Dick began hesitantly. 

That wasn’t a memory – Jason knew Dick had been off -world when he died, had missed his funeral. Jason made an encouraging noise and remained quiet. 

“Other stuff, stupid stuff.” 

“Let me be the judge of that,” Jason said, but he resumed stroking Dick’s hair.

“There’s a white faced man with a slashed red smile, it makes my stomach hurt to look at him.”

That sent a shiver down Jason’s spine, and an unwanted barrage of images from Jason's own nightmares, both real and imagined spilled through his mind. Typical that Dick would remember the horror and none of the good. “It was probably just a nightmare,” Jason lied. The bastard was dead, no need for Dick to remember him. He hoped his own dreams would be free of that rictus smile tonight. 

 

They hadn’t come up with a concrete escape plan, but it was an unspoken agreement that they would spend the day looking for a potential opportunity. Jason had wondered if Fahim would rather stay with these people, but when Jason asked him, he was adamant he wanted to carry on to Gotham. So Jason warned him to be on alert as they went about what passed for normal life in the camp. 

“I think there must be a way to get rid of the Anathema,” Amir was saying.

“Oh do tell,” Jason said flatly. “I would love to know.” 

Amir ignored his caustic tone and just smiled as he shoved food into his mouth. Jason was convinced the man was either evil, simple, or really stupid with the way he ignored Jason’s glares and general ill-feeling. 

“Do you have a theory?” Dick asked, grinning back at his friend like a moron.

“Well, not personally, but I bet people do have them, it’s just a case of bringing great minds together to come up with a plan!”

“And how do you—” Jason cut himself off at the sound of gunfire outside the tent. He and Dick moved fast, taking up defensive positions as more shots and the sound of screaming started. It was rapidly coming closer. Amir, Lucy and the woman serving the food were struck dumb in terror, their eyes wide and fearful. Jason could relate. The fear of the Anathema rose up in him again, but the rush of adrenaline had him moving.

Something large barreled into the side of the tent and bullets sprayed wildly through the cloth. Even as Jason pulled Amir and Lucy to the floor he wondered what fools had enough ammo to waste like that – Anathema bullets were different, formed of blue fire. This was standard human gunfire. He saw Dick dive for the woman still standing by her overturned pot of soup, and trusted he would look after himself. 

The tent started to fold inward, two of its supports having been blown out. Jason struggled to make it to the entrance under the blinding layers of fabric. The sight that met him was not the one he was expecting. It was a bunch of people wearing red, running amongst the Eastsiders waving knives and yelling. The large object that had impacted the tent also became obvious. It was an angry gray horse, painted in red streaks, being ridden by some idiot in a red crash helmet and wielding a semi-automatic. That was the douchebag shooting up the place. 

“The Red Stallions?” Jason said to no one in particular, still a bit mystified about what crash helmet guy was trying to achieve. 

“Is that moron riding a horse?” Dick asked from beside him. His voice sounded bemused. 

“Yup.” Jason was assessing the situation. The Eastsiders sucked. They were running about and screaming mostly – those that weren’t were firing their own weapons indiscriminately, wasting precious ammo. 

“I think it’s a mare,” Dick muttered at him, his own eyes distant and planning his next move. 

“Huh?”

“The horse, it’s a mare, they should be the Red Mares,” Dick paused. “Or the Night-Mares! – That would be a good name!” 

“Dick, shut up. We need to do something.” Jason was looking for Fahim in the mayhem – this was an opportunity, they could run in the confusion, but he wasn’t leaving without the old man. 

Dick misinterpreted him though and he shot Jason a slightly manic grin. “Damn right! Race you!” and he took off across the camp towards the horseman. 

Without thinking, Jason was following. Fighting sent a thrill of exhilaration through him, much more than it should have— and he suspected it was relief that the enemy was not the Anathema. The release of that fear created an almost giddy feeling.

Jason easily slid under the guard of an angry attacker swinging a machete. He struck his opponent's wrist, loosening his grip on the weapon, then sent a second blow to the man’s jaw before spinning on his toes to kick the guy’s knife up. Jason snatched it straight from the air and slashed the guy’s arms and chest in one violently graceful movement. The blows were debilitating, but not fatal – he was sick of seeing dead people. 

He threw himself towards the next bunch of attackers – the feel of battle, the freedom and the adrenaline pulling his mouth up into a grin. He was fairly sure he looked like a lunatic, but he didn’t care, too caught up in his dance. Through the flickers of his battle focus he could see Dick to the left of him, felling people at an impressive rate — he appeared to be using a steel ladle like an escrima stick, it was surprisingly effective.

A bullet grazed Jason’s cheek and he dove into the dirt, rolling smoothly to his feet and reluctantly sending his stolen knife sailing into his attacker – a successful hit at 20 feet. He dove again, as another hail of bullets sent him back towards the dirt. Irritatingly this lot seemed to be coming from the Eastsiders – Keith had not been exaggerating when he said they were in need of some more folks who could handle a gun. Their aim sucked. 

Through the mayhem ahead he could see Dick approaching the fool on horseback, the bastard was going to take him down – and win their unspoken wager. But despite his competitive nature, Jason was not going to leap into a hail of poorly-aimed friendly fire just to win a silly bet. Although it was tempting. 

When he next had the time to take in his surroundings, Jason saw that Dick had disarmed the rider with his ladle, and tumbled through the horse’s legs in a ridiculously risky move. As Jason watched he launched himself on the back of the horse — who objected violently and began to buck wildly. The leader of the Stallions tumbled off his mount, but Dick stayed on, gaining control of the rains and trying to calm the angry creature. Seeing a chance to even things up, Jason broke out his batskills and lobbed a rock at Crash Helmet’s knee. The guy squealed and went down in a heap.

It wouldn’t have kept him down for long, but the angry horse, in her panic – or possibly taking the opportunity for some equine revenge—stomped on the fallen leader with both her back hooves. Dick made a face at the sound but continued to talk quietly to the animal, finally bringing her under control, a control that was lost the following minute when the Eastsiders saw the lead Stallion was down and charged. Dick’s horse made another break for it, but Jason lost track of him in the ensuing chaos – the Eastsiders were shooting to kill and the fight had turned into a rout. 

Jason caught up with Keith just as he was executing a kid wearing a red headband. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen, but Keith put a bullet through his brain anyway. 

“You son of a bitch!” Jason yelled helplessly, far, far too late.

“You have no idea what they would have done to us Jason. It’s better this way.” 

“We’re being killed off like bugs by aliens and you're murdering kids for being in the wrong gang?”

Keith’s eyes narrowed and his gun came up to point between Jason’s eyes. “I would rather you were with us Jason. Dick took their leader down effortlessly, you could both be a huge asset to us.”

The word ‘asset’ made him shiver; Frosty had called him that. “If you shoot me, you’ll not only be loosing your ‘asset’ but Dick will fucking kill you. Just a warning.” Strangely Jason didn’t doubt his own words. Dick would avenge him, brutally and messily he had no doubt at all. It was an extraordinary thing to know – after Bruce’s failure to do the same. Original Dick wouldn’t have killed for him, but he would have cried. He had a sneaky feeling this version of his brother would make the world _burn_ for him. It was a heady, dizzying feeling. His confidence and conviction must have shone through and Keith lowered his gun. 

“This is life now Jason, this scum.” He kicked the boys body. “They’re as bad as the aliens, they attack us, rape, murder, take the children. You think because they're young they’re not guilty? They are.”

It was like being faced with the shadow of his own words, his attitude before the fall. Who was to say he wouldn’t have shot the boy for the same crimes? But that was then, and things were very different now. And he had no proof of this boy’s complicity in those crimes, nor any others in the Red Stallions – Mares, whatever. 

“So where do we stand?” Jason asked. He knew he might have to play it nice for a while, before they made a break for it – but if that was what it took…

“I think, once over our differences, we will work well together.” Keith nodded to himself. “You were a force to be reckoned with out there, as much as it irritates me – you and Dick may have saved us today.”

“True, but that doesn’t give me any answers – what happens next?”

“We will bury our dead, burn theirs. And then we— ”

There was a flash of blue fire and Keith’s head exploded in a spray of blood and tissue. Only years of training stopped Jason gaping in surprise, standing like a statue, covered in gore. He spun sideways and turned to face the new threat. The Eastsiders were once again screaming and running, but Jason’s attention was fixed upon the approaching men and woman, dressed in dark gray armor, chrome helmets obscuring their faces.

Anathema.


	35. Chapter 35

Jason ran. The fear the Anathema evoked in him was something he hadn’t experienced before – he didn’t want to die but he was less afraid of death than of being taken again. Of Dick being taken. Around him the Eastsiders were in a panic, screaming and attempting to flee into the woods. The Anathema were weeding out the ones they wanted, young men and women for the most part, and shooting the rest like rats. 

Jason had no problem with taking the weapons of the dead, and he was now well armed, but although it made him feel more secure, he knew it was also pointless. The Anathema's armor was made of some impenetrable materiel and bullets just ricocheted right off them. 

He crouched behind the remains of a tent and looked desperately for any sign of Dick or Fahim. He saw a grey armored figure drag Lucy across the camp by the hair before bundling her in to a vehicle. Jason didn’t move. Despite the shame he felt at not helping her, his priority was Dick. And Dick was obviously no longer in the camp. 

Gathering his nerve, Jason made a break for the trees, but they seemed much farther away when you were expecting a bullet in the back at any moment. When he reached their relative safety he found Amir – dirty and terrified, his handsome face smeared with sweat and tears. He looked at Jason like he was his savior and reached for him with bloody hands. 

“Where’s Dick?” Jason asked, as Amir grabbed hold of him. “Have you seen him?”

Amir nodded, still too terrified to speak. Jason shook him a bit. He didn’t want to hurt him, but time was running out – a feeling of dread was battling with the fear in his gut. “Where is he, Amir?”

“We were in the woods, he was holding the horse's reins, he was going to bring it back after the fighting. But then he fell down and started screaming.” Amir’s eyes were wide with remembered terror. “He wouldn’t stop screaming! And then he started bleeding from his ears and nose.” He shuddered.

“So what, you just left him there?” Jason demanded, but then he thought of Lucy and the other Eastsiders he had abandoned. The feeling of shame was momentarily overwhelming.

“I was going to get help. But then this started. I don’t know what to do!” Amir’s voice rose to a strained wail. “The raids aren’t usually this bad, I don’t know what’s going on!”

“Cut it out!” Jason shook him again. “I’m going to tell you what to do, and you’re going to live and you’re going to be free, understand?”

Amir nodded. His relief at someone taking charge was palpable. 

“You’re going to turn around and run. If you want to live you have to run.”

“But Lucy–” 

“Has already been taken, you can’t beat them with guns.” He paused, looking at the sudden stubborn set of Amir’s jaw. “But if you want to try…” Jason handed him one of the three weapons he had on him. If Amir was going to be brave and stupid enough to try to save his friend, then he deserved all the help he could get. 

“If you helped me, I might stand a chance!” Amir said desperately.

Jason shook his head. “I have to find Dick – you understand?”

All sorts of expressions flickered across Amir's face: anger, fear, determination, and finally, understanding. He held out a bloody hand and Jason grasped it in his own. Shaking hands was something so strangely civil in the middle of all this chaos.

“Good luck Jason.”

“You too.” Of course _now_ Jason liked him, now he was heading for his death.

But there was no time for regret, and he started running again in the direction Amir had pointed. 

He didn’t get far. A stunning, agonizing blast of blue fire knocked him off his feet. After a confused moment when he struggled to move though the pain and disorientation, he discovered to his surprise that he was still in one piece. The blast had been set to stun, not to kill or maim. 

There was only one soldier, tall and imposing in his gray armor. The figure watched as Jason climbed painfully to his feet.

“1678” 

Jason’s blood ran cold – this was most definitely a targeted attack, not just random chance. Despite, or perhaps because of it, Jason found himself mouthing off. Which never went well for him when talking to the Anathema. But sass was always his first line of defense. “Took your time didn’t you? Thought we would have seen you guys weeks ago.”

“We have been watching, waiting for you to intersect with a mission,” the soldier said, and Jason recognized that chilly voice – Cold Eyes. 

“Long time no see.” He was aiming for casual but he missed by several miles. “You watched us traipse across the country but had to wait to take us down?” he asked. His mind was starting to actually work rather than just jibber in fear. 

“We watched you and your pathetic pet,” Cold Eyes sneered. “You are like–” he seemed to be searching for the appropriately scathing word. “–like rodents, running in your cage. 1002 is disabled and ready to collect. It is just you that needs to be subdued.”

A few things clicked together in Jason’s head. “They didn’t report the escape did they? That’s why you had to wait to come get us. Bit embarrassing to tell the higher ups was it?”

“I’m going to give your old dog to my unit for sport. Then I’m going to give them 1002 and make you watch.” 

That was an outright lie – there was no way Steve would allow Dick to be harmed – not unless he was the one doing it. “Why all this anger? Get a smacked wrist did you?”

“You lost me my position! You ruined me!” 

“Stop, you’re breaking my heart.”

Cold Eyes roared in anger and shot at him again. This time though, Jason saw it coming and hit the dirt. He was desperately looking for an opening, some weakness to exploit. So far he could only see two positives: one, Cold Eyes seemed to be operating alone and away from the rest of his unit, and two, he was spitting mad – and that increased the chances he would make a mistake.

So Jason did what he did best. He pissed him off even more. 

“You lost your position because you let us slip away? Can’t say I’m sorry, you fucker!” 

“You destroyed me!”

“Cry me a river then go _drown_ in it,” Jason sneered.

Jason dodged another blast, pulled his gun and emptied his clip at the hand holding the weapon. Cold Eyes lost his grip and his gun spun away from him. For one amazing moment they were almost on even ground and Jason saw his opportunity. He dived for the gun. He had seen those things blast through solid metal, and he was betting they could do some damage even to the Anathema’s freaky armor. 

Cold Eyes made a snarling noise like a cornered animal and launched himself at the weapon as well. Jason got his hands on it first, but he was still at a major disadvantage – he was wearing jeans and a hoodie, not alien armor. And when Cold Eyes’ boot connected with his solar plexus, it sent the world spinning. The next hit was a punch to the head, and he teetered on the edge of collapse. Cold Eyes yanked the gun away from him like he was a child. It had been a valiant effort, but ultimately a pointless one. The bastards just seemed unbeatable. 

Cold Eyes leveled the gun at him. He flicked the setting and Jason suspected it had just been changed to 'deep fry.' 

“If you kill me your boss is going to be pissed,” Jason pointed out. He was still on his knees, the dizziness making it impossible to rise.

“I have been disgraced. I will bear that shame even if I deliver you. I can regain some honor if I kill you.” He was suddenly cold and hard, his rage pulled back under control now he had apparently made a decision.

It felt to Jason like he pulled the trigger in slow motion and a whirl of thoughts and regrets rushed though his mind. Would Dick be okay without him? Would they kill him too? Or take him back to Steve? He wished fleetingly that he had given in to Dick’s advances – if they were both going to die anyway, they might as well have consummated their mutual attraction, _affection_. He found that dying with his integrity intact wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and he kind of wished he had thrown it to the wind and got his rocks off. Hell, who was he kidding, he wished he had been able to show Dick how he felt in a way he couldn’t bring himself to do with words. 

Of course after all of those painful truths and sappy thoughts the gun stalled. It seemed that although Jason’s bullets had not penetrated the armor, they had totally fucked the gun. 

Jason laughed one of those whooping maniacal laughs he was always trying to train himself out of – now they only escaped when he had just seriously beaten the odds. Strangely, it was a laugh he had picked up from Dick, who had whooped and cackled as he did death-defying stunts over the streets of Gotham, just for the pure joy of it. 

“You think that will stop me?” Cold Eyes said. The rage bubbled back into his voice. “I can still beat you to death, you scum!”

Jason staggered to his feet as the man approached. He was going to take his own advice and run away, just as soon as his legs started working again. “You’re going to risk your boss's wrath just to even up some personal score? Seems a bit stupid to me.”

“Score? You have brought _shame_ to me. I can never recover what I have lost. Regaining my honor is impossible unless I kill you.”

“And then what? They kill you anyway? Or are you going to put a bullet in your brain after?” Jason edged sideways; if he saw a chance he was hightailing it out of there. Hopefully. “If you’re just going to blow yourself away, can’t you just let us go instead?”

Cold Eyes stalked towards him, every step a threat. “And my honor?”

“Honor be damned, the only honor worth its salt is your own personal integrity.” Jason chose to ignore the brief, imagined lapse in his own integrity, in which his last thoughts were of regret for not fucking his brother. He plowed on regardless. “That’s all that matters. You can’t face up to your people? Go start again somewhere fresh.”

“Start again? There is no starting again for me!” Cold Eyes unhooked his helmet, revealing his sweaty hair and face. There were vicious red lines burnt into his cheeks – his punishment clear for anyone to see. 

It was at this point Jason realized three important things. 

1\. The Anathema were cruel assholes even to each other .  
2\. The Anathema were no more immune to dramatic gestures than humans were.  
3\. Cold Eyes had just provided him with a massive head-sized chink in his armor.

“I can only wear my shame!” Cold Eyes was shouting. “I must¬–” 

Jason didn’t hesitate. He drew his last stolen knife from his boot and flung it as hard and true as he could towards Cold Eyes' face. In the movies people politely waited until the antagonist had finished speaking before attempting to shoot them. Jason felt that limited his chances; he preferred to shoot as soon as the opportunity arouse. Or in this case, throw a knife. 

His aim was good– the blade struck Cold Eyes in the throat, and he went down with a gurgle of surprise. There was a moment in which Jason couldn’t actually believe his luck, and then adrenaline shot though him like a drug, and he ran.

 

There was no pursuit, and it was more luck than judgment that Jason found Dick at all. He was lying in the damp grass of a small clearing. The horse was hovering on the edge of the trees, but she spooked as Jason approached and crashed away through the forest. 

Dick’s face was bloody and he was shuddering, his eyes rolled up into his head. It reminded Jason of the fits he’d had before. They presence of the Anathema had certainly triggered it, although he hadn’t seen Steve. 

And Jason suspected Fahim had been right all along. They _had_ been tracked, and the Anathema still had some control over Dick. That was a serious concern he would address as soon as they were as far away as they could get from here. 

Dick was unresponsive. Jason shook him and slapped him lightly to no avail. “Dick! Dick, goddammit, don't do this, we have to move — oh, fuck it. . .”

Dick was not cooperating with his plans no matter what Jason tried. His options were not good. He could carry Dick to safety (assuming they didn’t run into any Anathema, and assuming Cold Eyes was the only one tracking them.) But that would abandon Fahim. He could hide Dick and go back for Fahim. He could hide with Dick and hope Fahim found them. None were good options, and he was worried Dick might never recover – what if he did have another microchip in his body and Cold Eyes had activated it somehow? Would the effects fade with distance, or would Dick just fall into a coma? 

Jason made his decision. He carried Dick to an area of dense foliage and concealed him as best he could. Then he carefully started to make his way back to Cold Eyes' corpse. At least he hoped it was his corpse. 

There were still distant screams and gunfire echoing though the forest. The sounds were eerie and broken by the trees, creating a feeling they were coming from all directions.

But despite the chaos and the carnage befalling the Eastsiders, lady luck seemed to be smiling on him – for the second time she gave him the gift of opportunity. As he pulled himself over an incline, directly below him, like an offering from the heavens, was Fahim, huddled behind a fallen log clutching his ratty backpack.

“Old man!” Jason called quietly. And Fahim spun round and launched himself at him. 

“Jase! Am I glad to see you! I thought it was over for us – truly I did!”

Jason hugged him, and the old man patted his back awkwardly.

“Listen Fahim, I think you were right about them tracking Dick–” he held up a hand to forestall Fahim’s comment, “– and you can give me all the ‘I told you so’s’ later. I’m going to see if I can disable it.”

“Where’s your boy?”

“About fifteen minutes due north, walk slow and careful and follow the game trail – there’s a clearing. Take care of him, and if I’m not back in two hours, move on without me.”

Fahim looked torn, but then he clutched Jason’s hand in his own. “Take care Jase, come back to us.”

“You betcha.”

Fahim grunted and gave him a shrewd look, he reached into the backpack, drawing out Jason’s gun – the one that had been taken from him by the Eastsiders. “For luck,” he said.

“You are _awesome_ ,” Jason told him. Just being armed again made him feel better about his mission.

Fahim waved him away and turned to follow the trail Jason had directed him down.

Jason didn’t look back. It wasn’t a hard journey, but it was a cautious one. Eventually he reached Cold Eyes – and he was indeed a corpse, much to Jason’s relief. He inspected the armor, and found several interesting objects squirreled away. One, the size of a cell phone, was his best guess for a controller. There were lots of buttons and squiggly lines that he assumed were letters or words in the Anathema's real language. He hesitated. He couldn’t read the damn thing – what if he killed Dick by pressing the wrong button? 

He was so distracted thinking about it he failed to realize he was no longer alone until a bolt of blue struck the device in his hand. It exploded, shards of plastic tearing into his hand. He cried out in shock and pain and only had a split second to process the armor-clad figure charging him. His evasive maneuvers failed him, and the soldier struck him full force, dropping him to the ground. He struggled uselessly, distantly glad that he hadn’t just been shot, and equally distant was the dull fear that the controller exploding might have harmed Dick. Much more vivid was a more personal terror, and he wondered if Bruce had often been afraid like this, whether he had to fight so hard against himself even as he fought against his enemies. 

It didn’t matter. The soldier was bigger than Jason, even without that damn armor and though Jason drew his gun, there was little chance of escape. His enemy slammed him down and pinned him like he was a bug - all the time silent and inhuman. 

Jason panicked, and waves of dark fear and anger rolled through him, clouding his senses. 

 

When he came to, he was running. He had lost a boot and his hoodie and there was blood in his eyes. His right hand was a throbbing mess and he was still clutching his gun in his left. He had no idea how he had escaped or if he was going in the right direction, but he couldn’t make himself stop.

A gunshot and a cry of pain brought him to a staggering halt. The sound had come from somewhere behind him, and the cry had definitely been Dick. The boiling panic/rage/fear/dark started to descend on him again as all the possible horrors that could have caused that scream tore though his mind. He started to run back towards the sound, and his vision blacked out at the edges, although he fought against it.

 

Of all the things he had been expecting, the sight that greeted him wasn’t one of them. 

Dick was kneeling in the clearing clutching a bloody wound in his shoulder and Fahim was standing ten feet away, holding a shaking gun on him. The old man's face was screwed up in sorrow and pain, and his hand shook. “I’m sorry boy,” he said as he tried to steady his weapon. 

“Don’t!” Jason yelled.

Fahim turned to him, looking even more distressed.

“Jay!” Dick called; his voice was thick with pain and confusion. His nose was still sluggishly bleeding from his earlier fits and Jason could see the slow trail of blood in a bright, bright red, and in treacle-thick slow motion. 

“I’m sorry Jase,” Fahim told him. “I know you’ll hate me, but he’ll kill you.”

“He won’t! Neither of you will, you fucking idiot!” Jason’s head was pounding. This was not happening. He was wobbly from shock and pain.

“He will, I’ve seen it. I had a vision. They still have him and they’ll never let go.” 

“It's not him they fucked with Fahim, it's you! Can’t you see that? You never had visions or saw goddamn _souls_ before they messed with you!”

Fahim shook his head. “You’ll hate me and curse my name. But your life is more important to me than mine.”

“No!” Jason pointed his gun at Fahim. “I won't let you do this! Not to him and not to yourself!” His vision wavered and the dark was twisting around his chest, stifling his breath.

“I’m sorry, Jase. Dick.” 

Time slowed and sped up, Dick cried out again, and the angry dark took Jason away for the second time that day.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! RL kicked me in the butt a bit

When the fog surrounding his mind cleared, Jason was sitting with Fahim’s head cradled in his lap. The old man was spitting blood, and his upper body was stained a vicious dark red. Fahim gave him a bloodstained smile when he saw sense return to Jason’s face, and Jason’s heart clenched painfully. 

This was a nightmare.

“You bastard,” Jason said. “What the hell were you thinking?” He was unashamed to hear his voice break; he couldn’t decide if what he was feeling was anger, despair or something else. He didn’t know that it mattered.

“I’m sorry Jase, it had to be done. You’ll hate me, but I would rather that than you being killed. I needed to know you would be safe.”

“I don’t want to be _safe_ you moron! You just took away the only two people who cared about me! I don’t want to be here alone. I can’t fight the Anathema alone. I just can’t.” Jason avoided looking at where he had last seen Dick. He was sure he was alive, certain of it at some deep level. He was also certain Fahim believed the opposite, and Jason wasn’t going to deny a dying man his illusions. 

Fahim patted his hand. “You’ll find others, you’ll succeed. I’m sorry about Dick. I truly am. He was a good boy, before they got him. But it was the right thing to do. It was what I _had_ to do.” Fahim wheezed.

Jason growled wordlessly. He shifted around trying to see the damage. Damage he had done. The thought chocked him for a moment. 

He had shot Fahim three times. One in the chest, two in the gut. Stopping the bleeding was just putting off the inevitable, but he began to do it anyway. 

“I’m sorry,” he found himself muttering under his breath, “I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_.”

Fahim patted at him again. His eyes were sad, but still sharp. “Jase, you have nothing to be sorry for. Anyone would have done the same. I knew it was coming, one way or another.”

That wasn’t right, it shouldn’t have gone this way. “I blacked out! If I hadn’t, I could have shot to wound, to disarm. I could have brought you down with minor injuries, you could have _lived_.” 

But that hadn’t happened and Fahim was going to die. There was nothing Jason could do to stop it. “I could have saved you both,” he said, and his voice sounded strange and tight even to his own ears. He could have avoided the kill shot with ease, or he could have shot _to_ kill – either would be preferable to this slow painful slide towards death. 

“I’m sorry you’re suffering for this Jase. I can’t ask for forgiveness, but I hope one day you will understand.”

“Forgive? You stupid old goat!” Jason was momentarily lost for words. 

Fahim coughed with a spray of blood. “Jase, I know you can’t absolve me, but if you can find it in you for mercy, end it now.” his face was lined with pain and Jason’s eyes kept turning back to the great sucking wound in his friends belly. It must be agony. 

And he had done it. Him and his gun. Stray thoughts of Bruce kept intruding on his grief, and he felt closer to the edge of his own sanity than he had been in years. 

He drew his knife and his vision blurred. He lay the blade against his friends throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. “I forgive you,” Jason said eventually. “But I’ll never forgive myself.” 

“Stay safe, boy. You were my redemption. The reason I lived so long in that prison – I just didn’t know it then.” Fahim smiled at him through his obvious pain and Jason shouldn’t have been surprised that he was facing yet another personal tragedy. 

But he was. And everything in him mourned. 

“Good bye old man,” Jason said, ignoring the wet, traitorous slide of tears down his face 

He drove his knife home.

 

He sat for a few moments, shocked and covered in his friends blood. Then he staggered to his feet and turned his attention to Dick. He was hoping, trusting that the shot hadn't been fatal – he believed that if it had been, he would have recovered from his blackout by Dick’s body, not Fahim’s. He was trusting that even in his confused state he would have assessed who was in the most danger of dying and gone to them. He was desperately hoping that the fact he had let Fahim die thinking he had killed Dick was a lie.

Dick was lying in the grass, bloody but awake, and a weight lifted from Jason’s chest. Dick blinked up at him, his eyes creased with pain and his lips turned down with misery.

“I’m so sorry Jay, so sorry.”

And Jason’s world faded away again.

 

When he came back to himself, he was crying. He was crying like he had not done for years. Lost in his own grief, he felt _destroyed_. He could smell Dick, feel the hand his brother had on his back, but any sensation was lost in his weeping. Snot and tears and a burning flush. His breath was coming in broken gasping sobs. He had never cried this way in front of someone before.

But then, he had never murdered a friend before either.

He was aware that his brother was holding him, and he thought he could feel other wetness on his skin. Dick’s tears, or his blood. Perhaps both. 

A distant part of his mind was clamoring for attention. They weren’t safe here, the Anathema were still close, they might still be tracking Dick - but Jason couldn’t make himself care, too wrapped in his disbelief and grief. 

It was a long night.

 

The next morning Jason woke confused, his nose was stuffy and his head hurt. The events of yesterday crashed back down on him, and he tried desperately not to think about what had happened - but there was blood under his nails and images of death burned behind his eyes. 

He looked about himself, and found he was alone, under the cover of a low hanging bush. He was wrapped in blankets, and he was sure they hadn’t had them yesterday. 

There was a rustle of leaves and Dick’s head appeared under the branches. “Hey,” his soft voice broke though Jason’s frantic thoughts about blankets and his ongoing cycle of self-recrimination. “How you feeling?” 

Try as he might, Jason couldn’t hear pity in his voice, only concern. “Like I just murdered my best friend and then had a meltdown. How’d you think I’m feeling?” Jason croaked, his voice as raw as his heart.

“I have coffee and breakfast ready, when you’re up to it.”

“Coffee?” Maybe Jason was missing something, but yesterday they’d had the bare minimum of supplies. 

“I went back to the camp. What was left of it, and salvaged what I could.”

“That was fucking stupid,” Jason said listlessly.

Dick shrugged. “It was necessary. The Anathema are gone for now, but we need to get going,” he said gently, and Jason’s thoughts turned back to Fahim. Was he still lying out there in the forest clearing? Had he been there all night? He shuddered, hard. 

When he had himself back under control Jason hauled himself out from under the foliage. He was still missing a boot, so he took the other one off and flung it towards the pile of blankets he had used as a bed – he would worry about that later. 

The grass felt fresh and damp under his feet as he made his way to Dick’s make-shift camp. He had a small almost smokeless fire going and a pot of water was bubbling away. Next to it was a jar of cheap instant coffee and despite his emotional turmoil, the sight of it sent a pang of want through him. Jason drank his coffee and ate a surprisingly tasty breakfast of jerky and baked beans. But his mind was far away. He refused to look at Dick, instead concentrating on his many physical hurts.

 

But there was only so long he could ignore his brother. Dick looked pale and drawn, his features pinched with pain. His left arm was strapped into a makeshift sling. Jason finally remembered Dick had been shot yesterday. Twice. He pointed at Dick's wounded arm. “Let me see that.”

Dick shook his head. “After, no point stitching it now.” 

Jason almost asked 'after what?' but then he realized: Fahim. They were going to have to deal with his body. Jason shut his eyes. He was familiar with grief, he knew the sensation well, but this seemed so much more vivid. It was although all of his defenses had been stripped away and his emotions left raw and exposed. 

“I know this is hard, Jay–”

“You really don’t,” Jason growled. It was stupid to be angry with Dick, but just being angry at himself wasn’t enough. He wasn’t sure he would be able to get through the day without rage. 

Dick wasn’t intimidated by him though. He just accepted Jason’s anger – Jason wanted him to fight it. He wanted someone to punch, he wanted someone to punch _him_ , beat him until he looked the way that he felt inside. 

“Jason, we don’t have much time, and as terrible as this situation is, the longer we stay, the more likely they will come back for us.”

“They’re going to do that anyway, Dick.” Jason told him, his voice hard. “Fahim was right, they were tracking you. They activated a second chip that fucked you up and completely incapacitated you. I smashed the controller.” Jason looked down at his swollen hand – he hadn’t really registered the pain until he thought about it. “I killed the man they sent, and I smashed their tech, but they'll send another, and another.”

Dick looked stricken, his eyes closed tight. Then he looked straight up at Jason, with sorrow and determination written across his features. The expression made something in Jason’s chest twist up. “We can deal with that after, Jay. But I want to lay Fahim to rest first. He deserves that.”

“Don’t you fucking talk to me about him!” Jason snarled. His emotions were wild tangled things and he couldn’t control them.

Dick ignored his anger though, and plowed on. “Do you know what religion he was? How he would have liked to be –”

“Who fucking cares? He’s gone, it’s done with. There’s nothing left but dead flesh.” He choked on his own words.

“Ok, well, we have two options. Use the machete,” Dick nodded to the long knife resting on his knees, “and attempt to dig a grave. I thought about starting before you woke, but it was a bit of a struggle with one arm out of commission.”

Jason glared into his coffee and tried not to think about being buried underground, covered in dirt and worms 

”Or we could build a pyre,” Dick offered gently “I salvaged some kerosene from the camp, we could probably get it to a good temperature.”

“And attract the fuckers back to us?”

“Parts of the Eastsiders camp are still burning, I doubt they'll notice.”

Jason nodded stiffly. “Let’s do that then.”

 

Dick had been busy while Jason slept. He had clearly anticipated Jason’s choice in funeral arrangements and chopped some wood, as well as fetching the kerosene. He had also wrapped Fahim’s body in a blanket so only his face remained exposed. Hiding the wounds Jason had inflicted. But he still knew they were there and he had to swallow bile just looking at him. 

They built the pyre in silence. Jason chopped sturdy branches while Dick collected dry wood and brush. It was a bit hit and miss – based almost entirely on Viking movies and a vague understanding of thermodynamics. It was late afternoon by the time it was ready to light and both of them where exhausted, their shoulders aching and tight.

“Give me the stuff and leave,” Jason said, and harsh as it was, he just needed to be alone for this. “He wouldn’t want you here.”

Dick nodded and handed him the matches and kerosene, before heading back to the camp, without another word.

 

Jason lit the pyre. “Goodbye, you stupid old goat.”

He watched it burn for a while, until the flames were high, and licking at his friends body. He didn’t stay to watch any more, instead making his way into the forest, to sit alone with his thoughts.

 

It was dark when he returned to the camp. Dick was sitting with his knees up to his chest, staring at their own small fire. 

“I’m sorry.” Jason said. “I should have let you say your good byes too.”

Dick shrugged, still looking into the flames. “I said them already.” 

“He was wrong to attack you.” 

Dick looked at him and his eyes were haunted. “Was he? They followed me to the Eastsiders camp. Those people died because of me.”

“They didn’t. There was already a raid planned,” Jason told him, remembering Cold Eyes’ words. “The only one after you was the guard from the prison.”

“But they did follow me. Fahim was right, I am putting you in danger.”

“I don’t care. We can find the chip and get it out. It’s you and me against the fucking world now.” Jason sunk down on the grass beside him. 

Dick waved a hand towards their gear, piled up by the fire. “I found your other boot.”

“Thanks. Gonna need that.”

“How are we going to even find the other chip? It could be anywhere.”

“An X-ray or MRI or something?” Jason suggested.

“Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem around here.” Dick gestured at the forest around them and Jason huffed something that might have counted as a laugh if he didn’t feel so broken.

“We’ll have to hit up a city. A detour before we get to Gotham.”

“There’s another option. You could go on to Gotham alone.”

“No.” Jason reached out and pulled him closer until their foreheads were pressed together. “No fucking way. We go together.” he leaned the rest of the way forward and drew Dick into a kiss. 

Dick gasped into his mouth before twisting his fingers in Jason’s hair and kissing back with something that felt like it was close to desperation. 

Jason was dimly aware that they both needed a shave, and he seriously needed a wash. Dick mouth tasted like stale coffee, but it was warm and he needed this closeness like he needed air. Needed Dick, wanted him like he had never wanted another person. It wasn’t just desire, it was so much _more_. He shoved Dick flat on the grass and half covered him with his own body. Dick held him like he was drowning. 

He was crying again, silently this time. The blood of his friend was still staining his clothes and skin and he was kissing his amnesiac brother.

He was already damned, what was the point in holding back?


	37. Chapter 37

Jason woke with Dick’s weight half on top of him. It was comforting, familiar, and he enjoyed a few moments of peace before reality crashed into him and a sick feeling filled his belly. Yesterday came flooding back in a myriad of images and the sensation of blind panic. It took several long moments for him to calm his breathing and center himself enough to take stock of his surroundings.

He was relieved to note that both he and Dick were still fully dressed. He didn’t think he could cope with the idea that they had had sex for the first time with Fahim’s blood still staining his hands. 

"How you feeling?" Dick asked quietly, his voice still a little hoarse from sleep.

How was he _feeling_? "Like I shot my best friend then slit his throat to put him out of his misery."

"So not good then." 

“As far as weeks go, this has not been my best." Jason wanted to say something flip, or pseudo-positive, like: ‘at least it can’t get any worse!’ But he felt like that would just be tempting fate, and he was fairly certain he was not in fates good books right now. 

Another flash of memory flew through Jason’s mind. "Why’d you call a halt to things last night? I thought you were all up for sex and stuff?"

Dick sighed and kissed Jason’s collarbone. “I am, but it’s not important to me. You would have regretted it, and I would never want to be a reason for that." He pushed himself up so he could look Jason in the eye. "But knowing how you feel about me? Despite everything that happened? That means _everything_."

Jason swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “You sap," he said. 

Dick grinned at this grumpy tone, then he winced as he shifted his shoulders.

"How are you feeling, Dickie?" Jason asked, concerned with the twinges of pain he could see on Dick’s face.

“Arm hurts," Dick said, and shrugged - then looked like he wished he hadn’t.

On closer inspection it looked like the second wound had become infected. That just gave them even more reason to find a surgery of some kind - assuming they hadn’t all been looted. 

 

They set off within the hour, heading further inland in search of a small town doctor or vet’s surgery. They hoped to find imaging equipment to locate the chip still in Dick’s body, as well as antibiotics to combat the beginnings of infection.

 

The town had that eerie emptiness that all the deserted settlements had, like the echo of the horrors it has witnessed was still moving through the streets. 

They found a vet surgery right on the outskirts. It was as dark and deserted as the rest of the town appeared to be, the windows were unbroken and the door was locked – a good sign that it hadn’t been looted. Jason jimmied the lock easily and they slipped inside. The place was intact, it didn’t seem like it had been raided at all, there was a thermos of stale coffee and the morning paper still sitting on the receptionists desk. 

"You think there’ll be medicine here that could be useful?" Dick asked.

Jason nodded as he tried the light switch. Nothing. Finding an x-ray machine was useless if there wasn’t any power. They moved into the next room. The apparatus was there, and a selection of meds. 

"Pick up any narcotics and antibiotics. We’ll sort through them after we leave, and find something for you." Jason said, as he broke the lock that led into the rooms beyond. “ I’m going to see if I can find a back-up generator."

The room was dark and the smell of decay was strong. Jason had a sudden feeling of dislocation, followed by rising panic, the smell of death sending his consciousness scurrying into the dark recesses of his mind. He slid to the floor and struggled to regain control.

He couldn’t _function_ like this; how could he fight a war when his mind wasn’t even his own? After the pit things had been bad, but he’d gotten a handle on it, he had fought his demons, gained control. Marc had been a major setback - and had scared him enough to reassess the way he behaved with people, civilians. Jason had no desire to hurt anyone else, so he had worked hard to remove the possibility. He had an unhealthy relationship with sex anyway. This was different; he couldn’t avoid death and fear, not with the way things were. Now, even the smell of old death sent images of Fahim’s last moments careering through his mind -and that had almost made him black out. His body protected itself when he was in that state, and that meant it – _he_ \- would hurt Dick if his stupid lizard brain felt threatened - and that was unacceptable. 

Jason pulled himself back from the brink and heaved himself shakily to his feet. He had beaten his own mind before, and he could do it again. 

 

The emergency generator worked first try, and Jason squared his shoulders as he prepared to face who, or whatever had died in the darkened back room. He was relived not to find any human corpses, but the sight of the little furry bodies in their cages made him angry. Their deaths had been slow and terrible. More casualties of the invasion, unable to free themselves and abandoned when the Anathema took away the humans caring for them, they had starved in the dark.

He shuddered hard, and the shadows clawed at consciousness again. It was the death of his nightmares – alone, trapped in the dark.

 

He didn’t let Dick see his mini meltdown, and although Jason suspected he sensed something off, he didn’t mention it. Instead Dick took his off his shirt and let Jason re-clean and stitch his arm. He didn’t even mention Jason’s trembling fingers. 

They found the chip in Dick’s arm; under the skin of the scar he had claimed to have cut the original one from. Dick looked at it in confused disbelief, like his arm had somehow betrayed him for concealing it. Jason shivered; he didn’t know what to think. Maybe they had put it back when Steve and the New Enterprise had arrived at Old-Gate. Maybe. 

They were both subdued as they looted the vets surgery of medical supplies, squirreling away anything that might prove useful. Jason had expected to feel pleased when they found the chip – when they were finally _free_ , but instead there was a familiar twisting feeling of anxious dread.

Almost on cure, there was a strange, distant sound. They both paused in their searching to listen. The noise got louder, until it could be identified as a multitude of yells and screams, along with the low hum of the Anathema’s vehicles.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Dick snarled, as he ran to the window. “This can’t be happening!” 

Within the space of minutes the deserted streets were full of people. A man carrying a crying little boy, two woman clutching hands as they ran, their faces screwed up in fear. People started attempting to enter and hide in buildings and houses. Jason quickly turned off the lights and they watched in silence as the Anathema rolled into the town in their big armored vehicles. 

A gray uniformed soldier stepped down and spoke though a small device that amplified her voice. “If you wish to live, you will present yourselves here. If we have to hunt you down, you will be caught and you will be punished. If you resist, you will be killed. If you give yourselves up now, you will not be harmed and will be given food and water.”

“At least they’re not after us in particular," Dick whispered.

"The last lot weren’t officially after us either." Jason was really missing Fahim’s pessimistic snark. He really needed more time to grieve and to think about what had happened before he could cope with the next round of fear and fuckery from the Anathema. But it looked like he wasn’t going to get that chance.

Some people had emerged from the buildings and were being rounded up unharmed. Meanwhile soldiers had begun to advance on the houses, there were a lot of them, and Jason suspected they were not going to get out of this with out a lot of luck on their side.

"What should we do?" Dick muttered, panic in his voice. "What should we do?"

"Give up or run," Jason whispered back, “I suggest run."

They ran. But grey-clad solders where everywhere they turned, hauling people out of buildings and completely surrounding the small town. They seemed to find the hidden people effortlessly, with the help of small hand held devises – some sort of heat sensor Jason assumed. Hiding seemed pointless, but eventually they were driven to ground in a dark basement. It was only a matter of time. 

“I’m not going to let them take me again!" Dick’s grip on Jason’s arm was painful, and his body was shaking with fear and adrenaline. 

"We don’t know where these people are being taken - it might just be a camp, they might not be connected to the New Enterprise at all."

"He’ll find me. I won’t let that happen. I told you I would rather eat a bullet than go back." Dick sounded serious, and Jason was keenly aware that he had a gun in his shaking hand. 

“I’m not giving up until I know there’s no way out!" Jason growled at him. He wasn’t going to die in some fucking basement in a town he didn’t even know the name of. 

"They’ll take our weapons, and then there’ll be no escape, not even death."

“I’ll do it! If it comes to that.” Jason said, still eyeing the gun Dick was holding. He wasn’t going to watch Dick off himself unless he was one hundred percent sure there was no other option. 

“You’d kill me if I asked?"

"Sure, why not. I seem to be pretty good at killing people I care about.” 

“You big liar," Dick said, but there was a smile in his voice "The sentiment is very sweet, though." 

"Sweet. Not the word I would have used. But if it comes to the crunch, we can take as many of them out as we can when we go. They pretty much promised they’ll shoot us if we resist.”

“But what if they don’t?”

“We’ll attack at the first sniff of the New Enterprise. To these soldiers, we’re nothing but cattle, they’ll kill us if we push them.”

There was shouting from above and the sound of heavy boots on the stairs. Jason put down his own weapon, and gently forced Dick to lower his.

“Jay, if you’re wrong, I’m going to _hurt_ you.” Dick promised, just as the first Anathema soldier came into view. 

If he was wrong, Dick’s rage would be the last of his worries. 

 

They were led out of town along with a hundred or so other people, and loaded into trucks. The other prisoners looked worn-down and terrified. There was a shell-shocked silence, broken only by the jarring sound of crying children and the occasional whimper of pain.

"What’s going on?" Dick asked the woman next to him. She blinked at him, dazed. Her lank blond hair had clumps of dried blood clinging to the strands.

Another woman leaned over sending a cautious glance towards the front of the truck. "This past week, they’ve been raiding settlements, anywhere that has more than a hundred refugees," she said, keeping her voice low. "People with weapons or electricity.”

The teenage boy next to her also leaned forward to talk in hushed tones. "I heard rumors it’s because people started fighting back. It’s got them worried it won’t be so easy anymore."

"Makes sense," Dick said. He leaned against Jason’s shoulder, and Jason resisted the urge to put an arm round him and draw him closer. 

“Any idea where we’re headed then?" Jason asked.

The kid shrugged “One of the big camps I guess. There’s a bunch of them further west.”

Awesome. 

 

The camp was a huge enclosure full of tents. There was a regimented order to the place that was far more reminiscent of a prison than the refugee camp it was supposed to be. The Anathema steered them down the left side, to what could only be described as a holding pen. The same female soldier addressed them using her voice amplifier. “All weapons are prohibited. No knives, no guns, nothing made to cause harm. No exceptions. If you are in violation of this command, then you shall be taken to the central area and publicly flayed.” 

"That sounds unpleasant," Dick murmured and Jason wholeheartedly agreed. Fuck, that shit was nasty.

“You shall be provided with food and water to sustain you," the woman continued. "Theft and fighting amongst yourselves is punishable by flogging, and conspiracy or the murder of one of our kind is punishable by death. Over the next week you be further ordered, given numbers and sent to your next destination, where you shall be allowed to live in safety."

Allowed to live in safety, yeah right. It sounded like they were sorting to send to the New Enterprise, or something like it. Beside him, Dick was tense and watchful.

“I meant what I said, Jay. If there’s no way out, I’m going to die fighting them."

Jason nodded. He would rather go down fighting than fade away, strapped to a chair being prodded by Frosty or once of her kind. “If there’s no way out, we go together."

Dick squeezed his hand and Jason felt a rush of anxious hope. Freedom or death, they weren’t the worst options by far.

 

They were given a pallet in a tent, and some porridge-y looking stuff in a tin. The tent was dry and warm and there were thin strips of cloth hung from the ceiling to give each person the small luxury of privacy in the bustling camp. 

Dick sat cross-legged on the thin blankets and prodded his food cautiously, while Jason assessed what was left of their gear. Only the few things he had hidden on himself and some items of clothing they had been allowed to take from their bags. All weapons but the knife concealed in his boot had been taken. Thankfully he had managed to hang on to some of the drugs they had liberated from the vet surgery - Dick still needed the antibiotics. 

“I’m going to check out the camp," Jason said. He couldn’t stand the tense, frightened expression on Dick’s face any more. He needed to get some air, assess their options. Dick just nodded and stared at his lumpy gruel. 

 

The Anathema hadn’t been kidding about the flaying. In the center of the camp were several hanging figures, the skin stripped from their flesh. There was a smell, a mix of the iron tang of blood and the faint waft of death - this was recent. The bodies had obviously been left up as a warning, but not long enough to make the whole camp stink of decay. Jason shuddered and averted his eyes before he embarrassed himself with another meltdown,

He found a place to sit, out of sight of the gory spectacle, but positioned to view as many people as possible. There were tents on the left side of the camp that were different, they were smaller, and had less people around them. In fact although they were obviously in use, most people were huddled inside, and all of the few that came and went had vicious red cuts on their faces, similar to the ones Cold Eyes had worn. The other people in the camp seemed to avoid those ones, casting them dirty looks or spitting on the grass as they passed. 

His curiosity piqued, Jason waved over a passing man. He had spat at the tents, so seemed like a good candidate for questioning. 

"What’s the deal with those guys?"

The man gave him a look over. "New are you? Those bastards over there are the reason that they-" he nodded towards the corner of the square, where the corpses were hanging in the afternoon sun. “-are there. Traitors." 

“Traitors? What did they do?”

“Told the Anathema about possible rebellion, told them about hidden weapons. Anything for a few extra scraps and the promise of a better life." he spat again. "All lies I figure - as soon as they ship out, they’ll be off to the same end as the rest of us."

Jason nodded. “You’re not wrong. Their promises to us mean nothing. Why would you need to keep a promise made to a cow or a dog?"

The man looked at him in grim approval “Exactly. It’s best we help each other though these dark times, turning on your own kind brings nothing but pain to everyone." 

“And the face cuts? The Anathema give those to the disgraced.”

“Our lot gave them that, every cut. They help the devil? Then they get the mark of the devil to show what they done.”

“Seems fair,” Jason said, and shook the man’s hand. Even though they hadn’t introduced themselves, there was a sense of understanding between them. 

 

He headed back to the tent, and found Dick where he had left him, but now he was shirtless and in an animated conversation with two women, the older of whom was examining the scars on Dick’s back and shoulders with a sympathetic look. 

"Dare I ask?" Jason pushed aside the curtain with a rueful look at Dick’s grin. He was such a ridiculous flirt. But the way his face lit up when he caught sight of him, made Jason’s belly flutter. 

“This is Martha and this is Amy,” Dick smiled sunnily at the younger woman, who snorted in amusement. “They were just telling me the rules here.”

“Uh huh,” Jason said, raising an eyebrow at Dick’s bare chest.

“And-” Dick’s smile suddenly turned sharp “-Feeling us out.”

Amy looked uncomfortable, but Martha just nodded approvingly. “Dick tells me you’ve been captured by them before. And has shown me the scars to prove it.” She gestured at Dick’s back. 

Dick was lucky neither of them were well versed enough in skin and scar tissue to recognize the fact most of Dick’s physical scars pre-dated the Anathema. But they did tell a good story. 

“Yeah,” Jason said shortly. “I’d offer to show you mine, but I’m not as nice to look at as Casanova over here.”

Martha snorted again. “Dream on boys. This fat ass is too good for either of you.” 

Dick let out a sudden burst of laughter. “Oh I like these guys much better than I liked Keith!” He beamed at them again, all warmth and charm.

Martha looked at him like he was a cheeky kid that needed a good rap on the knuckles. Jason could relate. Dick only grinned wider. 

“You just remember what I told you, young man,” she told him, a note of affection in her voice. “Keep it between the two of you. There’s only going to be one chance.”

Dick nodded and the two women slipped out of their sleeping area.

“What was that about?” Jason asked. After the conversation outside he wasn’t sure they should trust any of these folks. 

“They’re coming to take people away this week.” Dick looked suddenly serious. “Something’s going to happen soon – she said we would know when we saw it. And she said when we did, we should fight.”

Jason rubbed at his eyes. “Are you telling me a bunch of unarmed refugees are going to attack the Anathema?”

“That was my impression. But I don’t know what the trigger’s going to be, only that it will happen before we get shipped out.”

“Sounds like fucking suicide to me.”

“I’m not going back, Jason. If they fight tomorrow or the next day – I’m going to fight with them, and most likely die with them.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then I’ll take down as many of the Anathema as I can before they kill me.” 

Jason didn’t doubt him for a moment. He did wonder if he would be able to let him do it though. As selfish and fucked up as that was, the thought of watching Dick die was too awful to contemplate. He just couldn’t, not unless he was right there beside him. 

Jason held out a hand and Dick gripped it firmly. “If they fight, we fight with them,” he agreed, “but if they don’t, then we try and escape – or die trying.”

“Deal.”

Dick didn’t let go of his hand.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: discussion about sexual assault and pregnancy.

The world outside of Gotham was alien and terrifying. Post invasion there was still crime in the city, sure, but Gordon and his peace keepers helped to bring order – harsh but fair. Outside of the city walls, people had no support, no boundaries, no reminders of civilization to keep them grounded. It was frightening in a whole new way. 

Even so, Sally found that her faith in humanity remained strong. Not all the people out here were wild and feral and in the week Sally and her rag-tag group had been traveling they had met a few bands of people who had given them advice and even food. She had tended what ailments and injuries she could as they traveled - but then they had moved on. Damian didn’t want them to linger, anxious to reach the source of the signal. He kept up a sour, cynical front, but Sally could read the desperation and hope in him. 

Gordon had sent two of his most trust worthy people for added protection – that was all he could spare - but it made Sally feel safer anyway. She knew Robin was a force to be reckoned with, despite his age and size, but she still felt better with the solid presence of other adults beside her. 

Bill Baxter had joined the army at eighteen, stayed for ten years, then left and become a small town dentist. He was smart, solid, loyal, and had a sense of humor more suited to a twelve year old. By contrast Maria Kosinski had been a cop on Gordon’s force, straightforward and blunt, but never cruel. She looked at Damian with the same expression Sally felt she had on her face when she thought about a ten year old fighting crime on the streets. Bill on the other hand had almost been star-struck at meeting Robin for the first time. Idiot. 

It was still Damian that received most of Sally’s attention however. The boy was smart mouthed and clever, but there was something so desperate about him. It was clear that he was frantically hoping that the people who were sending out the signal were members of his lost family. Sally herself was remaining cautiously optimistic - despite her misgivings about the Batman’s ability to properly care for his children, she wouldn’t mind having his large and mythical presence around to help them out. 

"How’s the kid holding up?" Maria asked on the sixth evening. 

Sally looked down at Damian, who after protesting he was fine and never got tired, had passed out with his face pressed to her thigh. She resisted the urge to pet his dark hair. "He’s managing - keeping a stiff upper lip."

"Wish I was half as brave. Some mornings I just want to give up. It feels so hopeless."

“I think we all have days like that. Sometimes it’s only these silly boys that get me up in the morning. If they can do it, I can do it."

“Inspiration from a ten year old." Maria shook her head, a small smile curving her lips.

Sally didn’t mention Tim, whose struggle through daily pain humbled and inspired her. She had left him with medication and a long list of instructions; he had nodded vaguely and gone back to typing code into the huge looming computer. 

 

The following morning, they found the source of the signal. An old bunker well off the beaten path, hidden amongst the trees. The sight of it filed Sally with sudden fear. They could be walking straight into a trap, they might be attacked by hostiles trying to lure in vigilantes to turn over to the Anathema in exchange for the promise of safety. She wasn’t a fighter, she was a healer. Sally had been born in a war zone, although she couldn’t remember it, having fled along with her parents to London. Years later, a newly qualified doctor, she had gone back and seen the damage still visible on the buildings and in the psyches of the survivors - but she had also seen hope, progress and compassion. It had left her with a belief in the innate strength of the human race to survive and to recover from the worst sort of injury and it left her with a burning need to help people do just that. 

And that was how she had ended up here, following a ten year old to her possible death. Her fear surprised her, the world collapsing around her ears she could apparently deal with, but walking right up to a threat made her breath come quick and turned her feet to lead.

Bill put a comforting hand on her arm. "You hang back while we make the approach," he said, but then turned sharply at Maria’s hiss of breath. Damian had broken cover and marched straight into the clearing.

"Show yourselves!" he demanded, in a surprisingly commanding voice considering it was still that of a child’s.

There was a long moment before a hooded figure dropped from a tree above. They twisted as they landed and skilfully avoided Damian’s instinctive punch. Then they scooped Damian into a crushing hug.

"Damian!" the figure said. The voice was a woman’s, and had a distinctive Gotham accent. At the sound of it Damian stopped struggling and his arms snaked around her neck to return the hug.

"Fatgirl," he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

The woman laughed, delighted.

"Did he just call her _fatgirl_?" Bill whispered, one eyebrow raised.

“Yep," Sally said, her breath coming easier. “I think we found some of his missing people.”

“I hope its huntress - she’s hot, not to mention scary. I wouldn’t want to mess with her.”

"Batgirl I suspect," Sally said, finally getting herself back under control and climbing awkwardly to her feet, her knees protesting as she straightened from the crouch she had been frozen in. She was vaguely embarrassed by her fear, but far more curious about the young woman who was still hugging the life out of Robin. His feet were dangling a foot off the floor, but he was being surprisingly submissive. 

“You picked up our signal?" The girl finally put Damian down, and he did his best to look unruffled by the manhandling.

"We did."

The young woman turned towards the rest of them. "Friends of yours, little D?"

"My escort," Damian said scornfully. “And the doctor,” he pointed a finger at Sally who did her best to look like a professional and not someone who had just been hiding in a bush.

“The signal requested medical assistance, are you injured?” Sally asked.

"Not me. My friend is sick.”

"Who else is with you?” Damian interrupted. 

"Roy, Lian and Selina."

“Of all the people to survive, it would have to be Harper wouldn’t it?"

"Don’t be an ass, Damian. Roy is awesome. And unbelievably handy to have around when your only source of protein is wild rabbits.”

"He’s an idiot," Damian grumbled. 

“You’re still bitter that he tricked you into sitting on a whoopee cushion that one time, and Dick laughed so hard he fell off his chair."

"That never happened, Brown!” Damian yelled angrily.

The girl laughed, a joyous sound despite the situation. “Where are my manners?" She pushed back her hood, revealing a pretty face and a slightly tangled braid of blond hair. "Stephanie Brown, at your service,” she gave a short, playful bow. 

“Sally Adedayo,” Sally said, as the others introduced themselves. “Will you take me to your sick friend?”

Stephanie nodded and motioned them forward. She kicked the bunker door a number of times, if it was some kind of secret knock it was the weirdest Sally had ever seen. The door opened revealing a large, scruffy, red-headed man who ginned when he caught sight of Damian. 

“We’re here to rescue you,” Damian proclaimed in the rudest tone possible. The man’s grin widened. 

“Thanks, half-pint, we need all the help we can get.” 

Damian growled deep in his throat and Sally pushed forward before he could launch himself at the smirking man. 

“My names Sally Adedayo. I’m the doctor you requested.” 

“Roy Harper. Glad you’re here Doc, she’s in back.”

“I’ll take you,” Stephanie said, leading her into the bunker. In the middle room there was a pile of blankets, on top of which a small child was playing with a ratty looking stuffed dog. “This is Lian, and the fearsome White Fang,” Stephanie said as the little girl looked up at them. 

“Grrr,” Lian said, making the toy dog jump up at them. “White Fang says hi,” she told them.

“Hi White Fang, hi Lian,” Sally said.

Lian grinned and went back to her game. Stephanie tugged Sally further into the bunker.

“So, Selina is having a hard time at the moment. She’s been through a lot, and this illness has just made things worse. She a woman used to pushing through obstacles and out-awesomeing anyone who gets in her way, but now she feels she’s slowing us down, maybe holding us back.”

“How long has she been ill?” 

“From the beginning, three months or so, but the last few weeks she couldn’t walk far. She keeps fainting and puking. I figured the puking was part of her PTSD symptoms - she… um, peed herself a few times in the early days too.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“Not in any great detail, but its up to her whether she wants to share.”

“Of course. I will try to be as gentle as I can with her.”

“Thanks. And that’s the other thing – she is pretty jumpy, and very grumpy. And when cats get twitchy and nervous, they tend to scratch, so keep your self at a safe distance if you see any warning signs.”

“Noted, thanks Stephanie.”

“Just help her get better and I will be your devoted friend for life. Or at least until Gotham.”

 

The woman lying in the back room gave Sally a cautious once over. One hand clutched the handle of a bucket close to the bed, it was presumably there if she became sick - but she looked like she could just as easily use it as a weapon. 

"Hi Selina, my name’s Sally, I’m a doctor. Would it be ok if I came over and asked some questions about what might be wrong with you?” 

"Sure thing Doctor Sally, I don’t bite."

Despite the teasing words Selina was watching her carefully as she came towards the make-shift bed. 

"Can you describe your symptoms for me? And the length of time you have been suffering from them." 

"Nausea, vomiting for months. Since I left _them_. Dizziness the past few weeks, fever, headache, stomach pains. I figure I have flu and those fools are just over reacting." 

"That might be so, but I’m going to give you a quick examination anyway if thats ok?” 

"Knock yourself out. It’s the only way I’m going to get any peace.”

Sally gave her a quick examination, checked all her vitals, then checked them again. Selena made a number of irritated noises but seemed to accept Sally’s touch.

“Have you ever suffered symptoms like this before?”

"Nooo,” Selina drew out the syllables like a petulant teenager, but Sally saw it for what it was. A deflection. 

“Is it possible you could be pregnant?”

“ _No_.”

“Could I feel your abdomen? The pain and the vomiting is quite concerning.”

Selina hesitated and then pulled up her shirt to reveal her stomach. It was littered with scar tissue, someone had sliced her open more than once and some of the smaller scars looked to have been caused by finger nails - her own Sally suspected. Selina turned her face away, her body so tense it was practically vibrating.

Carefully Sally felt the taut skin of her tummy. She was already sure her initial diagnosis was correct, but without proper equipment it was hard to confirm it.

“Any breast tenderness?”

“I'm _not_ pregnant.”

“When was the last time you had intercourse?” Sally was aware that if Selina was pregnant it was possibly the result of an assault. In fact both the time scale and her reactions indicated that it was a distinct possibility. Sally wanted to be as kind as possible, but if she was pregnant and there was something wrong with the pregnancy then she had to act quickly for Selina’s sake.

“Before the fall,” Selina said at last. 

“Selina, it is vitally important you're being honest with me. To be this ill during pregnancy could be an indication of something seriously wrong, and it could harm your health.”

“It’s gone, I got rid of it. And I’ve bled since,” Selina’s breath was coming fast and she had begun to sweat. Sally pulled down her shirt and gently took her hand. She was pleased when Selina gripped it hard in return. 

“It’s possible to have some bleeding during the first trimester, and still have a healthy pregnancy.”

Selina started to heave and Sally carefully helped her to throw up into her bucket. 

“Tell me what happened?”

Selina did.

 

An exhausting hour and a half later, Sally left Selina in a restless sleep and returned to the main room, her own mind buzzing with a dull horror.

 

“Is she going to be ok?” Stephanie asked anxiously.

“I want to get her back to the clinic as soon as possible, but I believe she will be ok for the time being.” Sally sat next to Damian on a pile of cushions. 

“Tell me about Tim,” Stephanie asked worriedly. “Damian says he’s really sick.”

Sally remembered Tim’s blush when she had asked about Batgirl. It was obvious she cared for him too, in some way at least. It would have been cute, if it hadn’t been so bloody sad. 

“He’s very ill I’m afraid. He inhaled a poisonous gas, and although it wasn’t immediately fatal, it seems to still be eating away at his lungs.”

“So he’s going to die?” 

“Everybody dies!” Damian broke in, “Some just sooner than others, don’t be so sentimental about it!” 

By the look on her face, Stephanie wasn’t fooled by Damian’s coldness either.

Sally ignored his outburst and cleared her throat. “It’s likely. I don’t want to give you any false hope. But I am still hoping I can discover a cure. Other people have the same symptoms and we are all working towards finding a treatment with the resources we have. If anybody can hang on for a cure it’s Tim.”

Stephanie smiled at her. “You’re not wrong, that boy can out stubborn the Bat when he wants to. I think I will join you in keeping hope alive.”

Sally smiled back. 

 

Sally was just regaining her equilibrium, when Damian’s radio crackled to life.

“Robin?” Tim’s tinny, excited voice exclaimed as Damian flicked the device to receive.

“Go ahead,” Damian replied in an agitated tone.

“We’ve got a signal! Full communication with a resistance cell!”

“How do you know its legit?”

“Oh its legit all right!” Tim sounded giddy with excitement, despite the wheeze audible in his voice. 

Damian tensed up and his eyes flickered closed briefly. Hope was killing this boy and it hurt to watch. “Where is it coming from?” he asked.

“London.”


	39. Chapter 39

The evening meal was served tent by tent and it was a tense affair. The people were anxiously watchful and there was a sense of fearful anticipation. 

Jason felt it too, deep in his bones; shit was going to go down, and soon. He and Dick were too new to the camp to be trusted with any details of the plan – he wished that he could help, but he understood why they were keeping things close to their chests. Even so, his combat knowledge could have been useful to them. Not that it was going to make a difference; a bunch of mostly unarmed civilians against an alien army? The odds were bad. Hell, they were going to be slaughtered, no two-ways about it.

And more likely than not, he and Dick were going to go down with them. If it was a choice between death and a return to the New Enterprise, he was with Dick in choosing to go out fighting. 

In a strange way that was kind of liberating, he was so fucking sick of being afraid, of waiting to be captured, of _losing_ people. 

 

Food was eaten quickly and quietly, the atmosphere not lending itself to conversation. After they were done, Dick caught Jason by the sleeve as he turned to head back to their sleeping quarters.

“I’m going to shower first.”

Jason stopped and turned to Dick. “Excuse me? There’s a _shower_? And you are only just telling me this now?”

“Amy told me, she said it’s pretty harsh and nasty, but it’s got to be better than dirt, right?”

“I got to die this week? I’m going to do it clean. Lead the way, asshole.”

Dick grinned. “I found us a razor too!”

“You are _amazing_ ,” Jason wasn’t even kidding.

The showers involved being sprayed with some funky smelling chemical de-louser before being dowsed in cold water – but it was still glorious to scrub down with soap and to have a decent shave. 

 

Later, they lay together in their designated sleeping area, blankets hung like curtains giving them some privacy from the rest of the camp. Clean, with full bellies and warm covers, it was almost pleasant - if you ignored the whole ‘refugee camp/going to die within the week/Anathema’ stuff. 

“So,” Dick said, his fingers playing with the hem of Jason’s shirt. “This is it then.”

“You really think so? A hundred percent?” 

“Yeah, don’t you?”

Jason shrugged. “Maybe ninety – I like to keep ten aside for optimisms sake.”

“You never struck me of much of an optimist.”

“I’m not, but I’ve seen enough, been through enough, not to underestimate what people can do when survival is on the line. Humanity is awesome that way, and often terrifying.”

Dick chuckled. “Ninety percent it is then.”

Ten percent, not a lot of hope, a mere sliver of a chance, but it was better than nothing. 

That did lead to some interesting questions, and Jason was sure he wasn’t the only one thinking about them - he could feel Dick heart beating fast against him. There was a sudden new tension between them, lying here in the dark. If they were going to die, did Jason’s reservations about he and Dick having a physical relationship still stand?

It was a tricky question that he still couldn’t quite reconcile with - his conscience and his desires were definitely still very much at war. On one hand if they died, Dick would never regain his memory’s and none of that shit would even matter – on the other hand, even if Dick didn’t remember, _Jason_ still knew it was wrong. 

But Jason just couldn’t shake off the feeling of regret he had felt when he thought Cold Eyes was going to shoot him. He had wished their relationship had been consummated, had longed for it despite his doubts. He didn’t want to die without showing Dick how he felt. He wanted it for selfish reasons, and he wanted it for the best and most selfless of reasons. 

He really was damned either way.

But the fact was, he was so in love with Dick it was embarrassing. And Dick _wanted_ this. 

And Jason wanted it too. In spite of all his fear and doubt, even though it was wrong, and he knew it was. This ‘going to die tomorrow’ (or the next day – hopefully the next day) situation was providing him with the perfect get out of jail free card. 

And he knew he was going to use it. 

“Jay? I can actually hear you thinking,” Dick broke into his thoughts. 

Jason grunted, he didn’t know what to say without opening the floodgates. 

Dick twisted round and leaned up so he could look Jason in the eye. He must have seen something there – probably an unhappy combination of angst, confusion and barely restrained lust.

“Does this change things then?” Dick asked.

And fuck him, but Jason could see the hope on his face, and he just wasn’t able to withstand that. He was only human, after all. 

“I don’t know, does it?”

Dick was silent. Jason had made his stance clear too many times for Dick to take the lead and give Jason any kind of excuse for what he was about to do. 

“So, Dickie, just tell me this – you ok dying as a giant cliché?”

Dick huffed a laugh, “You’re going to have to elaborate on that one, Jay.”

“It’s like every bad porno ever – we’re going to die, better get laid!”

Dick grinned at him, and kissed his nose, which was so fucking sappy. Jason was mortified by the blush that stole over his cheeks and the warm feeling in his belly. 

“Jaybird, if ever there was a time to indulge in a cliché, being on the edge of death is it.”

“It’s so embarrassing,” Jason grumped, “It has to be at least fifty percent now.”

“Really? The power of porn?”

“No, the universe loves to fuck with me. Give me a moral dilemma with a dose of potential shame? You can bet it’s going to try to shaft me.”

Dick sniggered

“Did you just have dirty thoughts? Dick, imminent death? Moral dilemma?”

“What ever you want, Jay, you already know where I stand. Do you want to take this step?”

Bastard, absolute fucking, _bastard_. 

Jason was kissing him before he really formed an answer to that. It wasn’t the sweet tender kisses he had thought they would share at this moment, it was wild, open mouthed and almost violent with passion. He tried to rein himself in, but Dick’s leg snaked over his own and pulled him in tight. The friction, the closeness, the look on Dick’s face – it was perfect and powerful and full of promise. 

Jason’s fingers were sliding under Dick’s light t-shirt. They had been naked together so many times, but this was different. He couldn’t believe he was getting to feel his skin in this way, with this new intent. 

Dick’s hands were running over his chest in turn, but he was being cautious, careful not to over step any of Jason’s boundaries - and that realization spun so many feelings though him; affection, trust, doubt. 

Dick was trying to protect him, help him – even after the things he had done and the things he had admitted – he didn’t deserve it. But he didn’t stop. Instead Jason tugged Dick’s shirt over his head and kissed as much exposed flesh as he could. Dick’s skin was warm and smelt so familiar it calmed Jason’s racing thoughts. He touched and tasted all the places he couldn’t before, the spot where Dick’s neck met his shoulders, the scar that ran over the first three ribs on his left side, the shell of his ear, the dip of his belly button. Jason was lost in them. 

There was no excuse he could make for what he was doing, other than he own love and confused desire, and Dick’s neediness and passion. Jason knew he hadn’t lost his senses; he wasn’t swept away with crazy lust. He felt those things, but he was still in control. This was his choice, a wrong headed stupid one, but a choice. That centered him a bit. He knew he was a bad person, but he was still in control of himself. 

At least he hoped he was. It wasn’t just the moral issues that were a threat – his violent reactions and black-outs were a real potential menace too. 

Dick wrestled Jason’s shirt off and stared at him like he wanted to eat him alive. The heat in his eyes sent a spike of unease through Jason’s body, but then Dick smiled and the shadows of the past faded again. 

“Stop me at any time, Jay.” 

“I think that’s my line.”

“I think its for us both.” Dick’s fingers ran lines of fire over his back, caressing scars and tight muscles alike. Jason had to bite back a groan - this was actually happening and he was way past the point of wanting to stop it. 

He skimmed his hands over Dick’s chest, mouthed at one dark nipple. Dick whined and arched up into his mouth, clutching at Jason’s hair. It was every teenage fantasy he had ever had – ok, not the aggressive, dominating ones, but the embarrassingly romantic ones, filled with him pleasuring Dick, making him squirm and beg, the ones where everything was unrealistically warm and tender. He would never live this down- but seeing as living beyond next week was unlikely, Jason figured he could cope. 

Jason was running out of new skin to explore and he needed more. “Take your fucking pants off,” he growled, and Dick struggled to comply. He was grunting and wiggling with his face flushed and his eyes wild with lust. It was a mix of absurd and hot, but the pants were stubbornly staying on. Jason batted his hands away to assess the problem. “You’ve undone the fly but not your belt you moron!”

Dick grinned at him, a bit shamefaced. “Whoops! Getting a bit ahead of myself there! Care to lend a hand?”

Jason did care to. He undid the offending belt and slid Dick’s sinfully tight jeans over his hips. He flung them haphazardly to the side, keen to get back to the kissing. Dick smirked at him and pulled him in by the shoulders. Jason once again let himself get lost in sensation. Dick was busy losing his underwear and trying to take Jason’s pants off simultaneously – for someone with Nightwing’s agility and sharp multitasking mind, Dick really sucked at undressing whilst lust addled. He was ineffectively tugging down his shorts with one hand, while the other hand was tangled in Jason’s belt loops. 

“Keep still you idiot,” Jason told him, working his own pants off. That done he helped Dick with his boxers, finally managing to discard them, which left Dick naked. He was flushed and wanton, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach. Jason stared at it. It was somehow as sleek and attractive as the rest of Dick, and he found that confusing. He had vowed never to have another man’s penis in his mouth; the idea disgusted him and sent dark memories fluttering through his mind. But looking at his pseudo brother, breathing heavily, legs slightly spread in invitation, he couldn’t help wondering what it would taste like on his tongue, and that both frightened and intrigued him.

Dick sat up, sensing his confusion, he didn’t touch him, but bent his head to catch his eye. “You ok, Jay? You want to take a break?”

“No, its cool,” Jason said, but he suddenly wasn’t sure it was. Here he was fighting against childhood nightmares – long since buried, and he hadn’t thought to consider Dick’s not so distant past. Living under the constant threat of sexual violence like he had in Old Gate had an effect on a person, not to mention Jason’s suspicious about Dick’s missing six months and the very creepy vibe Jason had got from Steve. And he wasn’t even going to think about the terrifying sex dreams where Dick moaned and thrashed and messed his shorts while muttering in the Anathema’s twisted language. It didn’t add up to anything good, and Jason should have had a conversation with Dick before they got to this point.

He realized that Dick’s blue eyes were inches from his own, and he sucked in a breath. 

“Jay, you still with me?” Dick touched his cheek.

“Are you ok?” Jason blurted.

“I’m good, are you ok? You zoned out on me there for a moment.”

“Steve,” Jason blurted. “Did he hurt you?”

Dick sat up so fast he nearly head butted him, then he shoved Jason in the chest, but not hard enough to push him away.

“He doesn’t come here, not like this, not when were together. Understand?” His tone booked no argument. “If we live, maybe we can talk about it – but not while we are intimate. He shouldn’t be anywhere near this.”

“Ok.” That kind of answered that question. But he had to trust Dick to look after himself – he suspected if he pushed beyond what he was comfortable with, Dick would make sure he knew about it.

He leaned in for another kiss and Dick tugged him down until their bodies were flush together. Jason’s anxiety melted away with the contact, and Dick smiled against his mouth, wrapping a leg around Jason’s waist and starting a slow, sensuous roll of his hips. The sensation of slick hot skin and the silky feel of Dick’s cock against his own made Jason shudder. 

Then Dick reached a hand between them, taking hold of both their cocks and making Jason’s head spin. Dick’s fingers were rough and callused and Jason couldn’t help grinding down onto him.

Sex was so intense and consuming that Jason was letting Dick set the pace, and pretty much everything else – he was just too wrapped up in sensation and lust. But he wasn’t the kind of guy that could give up the reins for long, so he drew back to catch his breath. 

Dick was exactly as Jason had imagined he would be during a moment like this, and it made his cock jump. He look debauched, pleased with himself, and hotter that hell – a place Jason was fairly sure he would be visiting rather soon. But right now? He could totally live with that. So he grabbed Dick’s hip, relishing the warm, taut skin under his palm. Then he stared to move at his pace. Dick snorted something that might have been a laugh, but he was pliant, and moaned into his mouth as Jason kissed him. 

Then when he moved his hand to meet Dick’s and grasped both their cocks together, Dick arched into him, and it was perfect. Jason’s fingers gripped Dick’s as he moved their hands, he gave them a fast rhythm, strong and even – every muscle flex and every moan was something incredible. Dick didn’t hold back, and he seemed to be enjoying Jason’s attempt at control. Although that didn’t stop him from playing games and trying to change the pace, even while he writhed and groaned and whispered greedy things into Jason’s skin. 

He was everything Jason had ever wanted and more. 

Dick came first, clutching at Jason’s shoulders with one hand even as his teeth clenched down on the sensitive skin of Jason’s neck – and that was all that it took to follow him over. 

 

When he woke, Jason was surprised at the lack of crushing guilt; instead he felt oddly at peace. Dick’s warm solid weight against his side was the same as it always was, but felt different too. More naked for one thing, Jason took the opportunity to trail his fingers down Dick’s back, feeling along familiar scars and resting against the Nightwing tattoo. Dick shifted against him, snuffling and drooling in his sleep. Jason felt calm having made his choice he could live with it. For the next few days at least. 

Dick of course was the opposite. He was relaxed and happy when he woke, kissing Jason and getting in a few sneaky cuddles before the sun rose. Jason pretended to ignore it, which seemed to amuse Dick greatly. Breakfast was embarrassing – from the looks they were getting, they had not been quite as quiet as Jason had hoped. He kept his head down, but Dick was practically swaggering. He looked like the cat that had got the cream, eaten the canary and still been given ear scrunches. But by lunch he was tense and irritated.

“What’s up Dickface?” Jason asked, at last, Dick’s anxiety was making his own doubts creep in. “Post-coital glow warn off already?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly its something. Do you regret it? I thought we did rather well – no one was bleeding or crying or traumatized for life – I was counting it as a win.”

“That’s the problem! I feel too good about it – I don’t want us to die and just lose all this now I have it! You know how long I wanted you to wake me up with a kiss? To know that you care for me the way I care for you? I can’t lose it now!”

“You are such a soppy romantic.” Jason steadfastly ignored the warmth that spread through his body at Dick’s words. He was the other way - he could die knowing he did what he could in this shitty situation, with someone he loved by his side. He could let go, so long as they were together.

Apparently Dick wasn’t the only soppy romantic. 

“I want us to live, Jason!”

“Then lets live.” Easy to say, it wasn’t clear how easy it would be to achieve. 

 

He had hoped they would have more than a day before the fighting kicked off, maybe another night together. But as evening fell, people were becoming tense, waiting. The Anathema had noticed too and had doubled the guards. That didn’t change anything though, and the quiet after the evening meal was suddenly broken by gunfire.

The camp was being attacked from the _outside_. That improved their chances slightly, at least it wasn’t only a bunch of unarmed civilians attacking an armed force. 

The people in the camp didn’t waste any time, children, the elderly and infirm hid as best they could, a designated group of people protecting them, while able bodied men and women charged at the guards. 

There had probably been a plan, but a mix of adrenalin, panic and hate tended to make people react rather than follow orders, unless they’d had it drilled into them. These guys had obviously not, and most of the camp residents that were attacking, were doing so wildly and at random, and as predicted they were being cut down. 

Some, instead of going after the real threat of the Anathema, had instead attacked the people that had been branded traitors – their retributions was violent and terrible, their families attacked and killed along with them.

That was the thing about human survival, people did what they had to, but sometimes their anger and fear led them to do unspeakable, unforgivable things in turn.

Jason didn’t know whether he should be trying to help defeat the Anathema, save the families of the humans being assaulted by their own, or try to save Dick and himself. 

 

Dick knew though, even without his memories his instinct to protect was still as strong as it ever had been. It was to late to save the families of the ‘traitors’ and attacking the Anathema unarmed was crazy. Instead he pulled Jason towards the hiding place of a bunch of kids, the elderly and others unable to fight. They were being defended by teenagers barely past puberty, a pregnant woman, and a few senior citizens. 

The defending team although not ideal were actually pretty formidable, but even so they were a weak spot - if the armed guards came at them, they would have no hope. Dick and Jason had an advantage; combat, and all its stresses came easy to them It was as natural as breathing. Damn Bruce for that – but bless him too. 

Dick had once again claimed a ladle as his weapon of choice, and Jason dearly wished for a time when there was luxury to mock him for it. Instead he garbed his own meager weapon – a metal prong that was once part of a cooking tripod. One great thing about being trained by the Bat? Ability to not only make any random piece of crap into a weapon, but also to know how to do serious damage with it.

Shockingly, to Jason at least, the fight was not just civilians being murdered in their hundreds. The outer fence went down on the west side and the Anathema were struggling to contain the sudden influx of armed, angry humans. 

It was still a hopeless, unfair fight, but it was awesome to see resistance. And then…. and then out of the gloom came a tank – a beautiful, standard issue USA tank. It was like something from a movie or a fever dream. On the front there was a painted picture of the earth - a simple symbol that sent a rush of powerful joy though Jason’s body. It was a sign of unity, of _humans_ and this was the first sign of organized resistance he had seen since the fall. 

It was _glorious_.

Then the tank turned and he saw the sign painted on the reverse – a rush of adrenaline and hope shot through him so hard it felt frightening. It was crudely drawn simple face, painted in shades of greenish gray. It was so fucking familiar despite the lack of skill in its painting, Jason would have recognized it anywhere: Oracle – it was the image Babs used to communicate with people outside the family. Somewhere, she was alive and involved in the resistance, running it probably, knowing her. 

There was a nozzle strapped to the front of the tanks gun, and it sprayed the Anathema soldiers with a liquid that made their impenetrable armor smoke and produce an acrid odor. Then came a volley of gunfire and the Anathema started going down. Jason stared in awe and joy - and his fingers twitched towards a gun he no longer had. 

They led their group of civilians towards waiting human soldiers, who quickly led them to safety. That just left he and Dick to figure out their next move. 

“Come on, Jay!” Dick yelled into his ear, as he tugged at Jason’s arm towards the fray. 

There was blood-lust in Dick’s voice, he was staring at the Anathema troops being cut down with naked hunger in his gaze. It was exhilarating and creepy by terns. 

Jason wrestled with himself for a moment. He wanted to fight so bad, but if they did, what then? Would they stay here with the resistance? Would they be able to go back to Gotham or would it just be like the Eastsider’s all over again? What if Anathema reinforcements arrived and they were recaptured? 

Jason pulled Dick into a quick kiss. "We have to run. We have to get to Gotham."

Dick looked torn, his eyes lingering on the screaming Anathema soldiers being cut down by the advancing tank, but eventually he nodded. “To Gotham - but then we _fight_.”

“Oh, yeah, then we fight.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this Chapter: Non-graphic discussion of non-con and some disturbing themes 
> 
> Sorry for the delay - RL is leaving me with little time or heart for writing atm - but both my ongoing fics are planned to the end and will be finished! [eventually...]

The taste of Dick’s skin had become as familiar as his touch, and Jason was yet to feel the guilt he should have been experiencing... and that was just fine with him - he had plenty enough to feel crap about anyway.

They’d had sex only a handful of times since the first occasion, and had gone no further than hand jobs. Each time was fiercely intense, filled with an almost desperate lust and overwhelming emotion and, as such, there had been more than one instance when Jason had felt the need to back off and take time out. The shame of that did nothing for his libido, nor the images of Marc bleeding out on the floor that danced behind his eyes whenever things got too much. Those did wonders for making his cock limp. 

Dick, being Dick, never questioned or complained about his actions, and made something that was humiliating and embarrassing seem like less of an issue. Jason didn’t care who Dick had been, or what their relationship had been _before_ , he loved him _now_ , with such intensity it was frightening. He just wished he could give Dick the same space and understanding that he received.

But he couldn’t.

The weight of Dick’s own occasional freak-outs, the missing six months that Dick had spent with Steve (and didn’t he wish he could have chosen a more evil sounding name for the bastard) and the horrifying times he muttered something in the Anathemas tongue during sex, were consuming him. He couldn’t let it go.

It was terrifying, and the feelings of rage that bubbled up even thinking about it were so powerful he had to get out of Dick’s space immediately just to avoid a potential blackout. He was becoming hyper aware of his own thoughts or things that could trigger them – if he flipped out, it would be Dick in the line of fire.

Jason’s need to know about Dick’s missing months, to understand what he might have suffered, was growing in him like a toxic boil that needed lancing. It was only a matter of time until the questions exploded out of him – and he needed to make sure he caused as little damage as possible when that happened.

 

They were five miles out from Gotham City, according to the road signs they were passing, and as they hiked along the deserted highway Jason decided tonight was the night. Soon they would be home – and other issues would take precedence.

They made camp in a deserted motel. Dick was excited by the prospect of a bed, and although the water wasn’t working, it was still something of a luxury after so long sleeping rough.

Dick made a fire, while Jason hunted down the vending machine. It was blessedly untouched; although ancient Oreos and M&M’s was not the ideal dinner, Jason was rather keen on the idea of a coke or three for breakfast. He had been sadly decaffeinated over the past week. He considered whether he should hunt around the motel for any money or just smash the crap out of the machine with the chrome pedal bin in the corner. After some deliberation he opted for violence, mostly because there was a certain amount of satisfaction in beating the hell out of an inanimate object and being rewarded with food.

He returned to their camp with armfuls of chocolate and chips and a few plastic splinters from his attempts to wreak havoc upon the plastic covered soda machine. He had also found a blessed supply of toiletries – soap, shampoo, toothbrushes and razors. It was like survivalist hobo Christmas.

It seemed Dick had had similar thoughts about decaffeination, and he had amassed a small pile of coffee making apparatus pilfered from empty rooms. He had apparently already tucked into his other find, and had sugar granules on his lips and in the scruff on his face.

“Have you been eating sugar, Dick?” Jason asked, dropping his offerings by the fire.

“No,” Dick widened his eyes in apparent indignation and Jason swiped a finger over his lips.

“Liar.”

Dick grinned, and Jason bopped him on the nose with one of the razors he had appropriated. Heaven knew they both needed a shave. Dick’s beard grew in slow and even, but Jason’s was like a mad fuzzy animal had taken residence on his face. His hair grew in fast and furious, but sadly patchy in places, and it was embarrassing and itchy. Every shave had been like a blessing in the last few months. He was planning to hang on to this razor for more than a few days though, he wasn’t going to let it be confiscated by the Anathema or refugees or any one. Well, anyone but Dick. He wasn’t a fan of stubble rash, after all.

 

Later, with stomachs full of chocolate and chips, and the fire burning brightly, Jason tried to broach the subject that had been playing on his mind.

“What do you think the Anathema wanted with you?” he asked, aiming for casual, but from the look on Dick’s face he knew where it was going from the moment Jason opened his mouth. “With us,” he amended, rather pointlessly.

Dick shrugged and poked at their small campfire with a stick. “I don’t know what their end game for me was. Control of some sort I guess.”

“Yeah, but why? They have better tech than us, they have powerful armies - why bother taking the time and effort to brainwash someone?”

“Maybe they were just testing their methods on us. For use in their next conquest.”

“Next conquest?”

“You think they haven’t done this before?”

Yeah, Jason had thought that. They were too efficient. They brought the whole world to its knees in under a month and they hadn’t even nuked anything. Just the perfectly executed and systematic destruction of leadership and the armed forces. There had to have been recon, had to have been moles in position of power for years before the invasion. There was no other way for them to have been so incredibly destructive in such a short amount of time.

“Yeah, I think they’ve done it before, and will do it again, once they’ve used us up.”

“You think there’s any truth in what Amir said? About them shape-shifting into the species they invade?” Dick asked.

Jason shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe, but I would need to see evidence before I believed it.”

“I guess.” Dick poked the fire again, making sparks fly. He had a far away look in his eyes, like he was remembering something unpleasant.

Jason struggled to find the words he needed to ask his next question, but none of them seemed right. _Did Steve do more with you than train? Was he using it as an excuse to take advantage of you? Did he-_ He couldn’t even finish the thought without the rage boiling through him. To be honest he already knew the answer, he but he needed to hear it. Even if a small desperate part of his mind wanted to hear Dick believably deny it.

“What happened between you and Steve – the training I mean,” Jason blurted, shying away from the real question at t he last minute. Dick heard it anyway.

“It really bothers you doesn’t it?” he asked. “You think I slept with him, to gain favour and to escape what was happening to me?”

That hadn’t been what was upsetting Jason at _all_ , he had barely even considered it. Although he did recall Dick saying he had attempted to seduce his captors and that it had been met with indifference, but it was obviously something that had been on Dick’s mind. He resolved to deal with that, right after he dealt with his original question.

“No, that’s not-” Jason broke off, and gave a shaky laugh, even though he was as far away from amused as he could possibly be. Even thinking these thoughts was making him sweat. Not Dick though, strangely, he was just looking at Jason with a very Nightwing tilt of his chin, he was in control of himself and going to fight to keep it. And if he could face these difficult questions with dignity then so could Jason.

“Did he force you?”

Dick blinked at him, apparently unsurprised by the question, but still considering his answer. “Does it matter?” he asked, after a moment.

Jason felt a rush of anger run through his veins – did it matter? Did it fucking _matter_ what Dick had suffered? But then he saw the expression on Dick’s face and he realised Dick was referring to their relationship. That sent another flood of feeling churning through him, _hurt-fury-bitterness-desperation_ , it called to the part of him that would forever be ten years old and full of self-loathing for things that weren’t his fault. He struggled through it, he had too, for Dick, who should never feel the way he had. 

“No,” he said empathetically, after pulling himself back from the edge, “Whatever happened while you were gone, what ever he did, whatever you did. It makes no difference to what’s between us.”

It was upsetting to see some of the tension bleed out of Dick’s shoulders at his answer – the fact that he thought that it would make a difference was hurtful, but not unreasonable considering the state of mind he was probably in. This was something Jason actually understood, and he hoped because of that, he could help ease some of the pain.

It might hurt, but like any wound, it was best to clean it out before you stuck a band-aid on it, so Jason didn't stop there, even though perhaps he should have. “It’s selfish of me to pry, but I can’t get it out of my mind. It won’t change anything, but I really want to know. I suspected while we were in Old Gate, and its been eating away at me,” he admitted finally.

“It’s my business!” Dick snapped, and then he took a deep steadying breath. “But I’ll tell you what you want to know.” His eyes were downcast and Jason shuddered at the wrongness of that.

“Did he?”

Dick took a rough breath and nodded. “At first.”

“At first? Then he stopped?”

“Then _I_ stopped resisting. He would use my memories and my fears to tear me apart. And then he would comfort me with something close to tenderness. I let him. Sometimes I felt safe, other times I felt pleasure or affection. And then he would hand me back to the medics and it would happen again. It was driving me crazy to be so conflicted, and I knew the only way to have a clear mind was to be free of him.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jason ground out from between clenched teeth. Dick had been fighting against his enemy, against himself and almost insurmountable odds and yet he had won - and all Jason could offer were clichés and platitudes. But he felt pride, along with his anger. Pride and the fierce almost sickening feeling he had come to identify as love.

He thought knowing for sure would be better. It wasn’t.

For Jason the idea of being manipulated and coerced into finding comfort or pleasure in your own abuse was far worse than out and out violent assault. It was the worst sort of mind fuckery and violation he could imagine. But _he_ was not Dick, and he once again had to remind himself that they were very different people and that they probably dealt with things in their own ways. 

“I know,” Dick said. Startling Jason out of his turbulent thoughts. Dick gave him a look through his lashes. “ I know that, its just remembering that feeling of contentment after he had sex with me is just very upsetting.”

“Raped you,” Jason corrected, the word burning his tongue. “Consent in the circumstances you were in, is no consent at all.”

“I guess not.” Dick went back to staring at the fire, he looked calm, but his knuckles were white where he still clutched his stick.

And _there_ was the guilt Jason had been missing, crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. Could there relationship ever be considered fully consenting? Even if Dick regained his memories tomorrow, they still would have had sex without them.

He startled when Dick’s fingers brushed his face gently. “It’s nothing like this, Jason, nothing like us.”

Jason nodded but he wasn’t so sure.

What he did know, was that Steve was on borrowed time. Whatever happened in Gotham, as soon as it was done, he was going after the fucker. 

 

They sat lost in their own thoughts for a while. Jason listened to the crackling of the fire and remembered other flames, and the vague feel of burning. In some strange way, he felt that had been cleaner, simpler than his other pains and torments.

“What about you?” Dick asked, finally breaking the silence.

“What about me?” Jason asked warily. There was no way he was talking about the shit that went on in his past, no matter how hypocritical that was.

“What did the Anathema want with you? They were pretty interested if I recall.”

Jason was ridiculously relieved Dick hadn’t been asking about his fucked up childhood experiences, and was also very aware that he never would have done so in the first place, and he was projecting wildly in his discomfort.

“Jay?”

Jason shook himself free of his anxieties and pondered the actual question. “They were rifling through everybody’s lives looking for something. Or more than one thing perhaps.”

“And you had it? You knew what it was?”

“Yeah, I guess I did. Although it took me a long-ass time to realise that.” And now they knew all he knew. He had a sudden spike of fear –Talia and Ra's were probably holed up somewhere, safe and waiting, but they weren’t the only ones who knew the location of the pits. Damian knew, Damian had grown up with the knowledge of them.

And Jason’s memories had told them that. Told them that Damian had survived. Told them the location of the Batcave.

His throat was suddenly dry. They were heading to Gotham to meet up with the Bat-Brats, but what if Steve or Frosty got there first? The prospect of Damian being taken by them was unthinkable. He was surprised at his feelings of helpless fury - heaven knew he and the demon spawn had never seen eye to eye, but still his blood churned with anger and guilt. Even though it had not been his fault exactly, he would still be in someway responsible. He would never forgive himself. How had he not realised this sooner?

“Jason?” Dick’s voice drew him back to the present.

“What?” he croaked, he had probably missed half the conversation.

“What was it? The thing they were looking for?”

“Lazarus pit.”

“The what now?” Dick was giving him his cute scrunchy nosed confused look, and Jason concentrated on that rather than the fear shooting through his veins.

“It’s a pit of magical water that can heal or even resurrect the dead. Kind of.”

Dick looked sceptical. “Sounds like bullshit.”

“Oh believe me its real. And it works, although there is always a price to pay when you fuck with the laws of nature.”

“A magic zombie bath that brings people back from the dead? Sounds like fucking with nature to me. “ He looked pensive for a moment “Although if its not man made, then I guess it _is_ nature.”

“Don’t know, don’t care. I have no idea why they exist, just that they do. And taking a dip in one is not recommended despite their magical healing properties.”

Jason noticed that Dick was looking at him intently, his stick, forgotten, was now merrily burning away in his hand. “You sure know a lot about their bad effects, Jay-bird.”

Jason shrugged, blinking away images of pain and terror.

Dick was relentless though. “You said you had a near death experience in which you had been a bit more dead than you had initially let on. Were you revived with the magic water?”

Jason shuddered. “I was definitely dead, and I am not completely sure how I was resurrected but I don’t remember much from that time. I was in something of a fugue state I think, my mind and memory gone. I was found by-” he struggled for a moment to find the right words to describe Talia, to describe what she was to him, to them as a family. It was surprisingly difficult to sort through his feelings and put her in an appropriate category. “-found by a woman who had known Batman. She took me in for her own reasons, and eventually used the pit to restore me. It was not an easy process.”

“It restored your memory?” Dick asked intently, his voice quiet, and Jason could have kicked himself. He was ashamed of the cold feeling of fear that settled in his stomach.

“Yeah,” he forced himself to say, “but it fucked me up too. It felt like someone had poured acid in my brain for months. Years even. I look back at myself and it frightens me.”

“You did bad things because of it?”

Jason considered for a moment. He had been stripped of control for a while, his nerves raw and reactive. He had done ‘bad things’ because of it, but he had chosen to do many more, and he sure as shit didn’t regret most of the deaths on his conscience. He had to wonder if that was the pit, or if he had always been that way. He had spent a while, in the early days after Talia, feeling that he must be a psycho, with the weird fiery joy he got from some of those early kills. But the whole time he had felt like his brain was on fire. Everything hurt, every emotion, every reminder of the past was like molten mercury in his veins – toxic and burning. Things had settled and he realised he had never lost his sense of compassion, just pushed it down, ignored it to protect himself.

“I did,” He admitted at last, because the reality of the situation was too huge for him to verbalise.

And, if he was honest, because he was terrified of Dick regaining his memories. If he could keep them gone forever he would, no matter how much that damned him. That knowledge upset him in ways he couldn’t explain. “Lets go to bed,” He croaked, his voice sounded weak to his own ears, like a man unsure of his own footing.

Dick got gracefully to his feet, put out the fire and scooped up as much of their new supplies as he could hold before disappearing into the room he had chosen for them. Jason picked up his own bunch of stuff and followed.

It was dark without electricity or the fire, but once his eyes adjusted Jason could see Dick had shaken the dust off one of the beds and made it a nest of blankets. He locked the latch behind him – it didn’t seem like enough, so he rammed the desk and a chair against the closed door for a little extra protection. Then he crawled under the covers. It was almost too hot with the warmth of Dick’s body and the fluffed up blankets – but it felt good, almost safe.

Dick seemed to have once again sensed his needs, and instead of his usual heated kisses, he just lightly folded his arm over Jason’s chest and laid his head on his shoulder. Jason was reluctant to call it snuggling, but that was more or less what it was. He didn’t complain.

But still, Jason couldn’t sleep. All he could think was – would they be too late? He had been so caught up with the struggle to get back to Gotham, he had failed to worry about what they would find when they got there. He had given Frosty a fucking map to his family, and the thought burnt and tormented him even in dreams.

 

He woke after only a scant few hours of sleep, his mind already working and twisting. Would they be in time, or would the Anathema be waiting? What would they do if they were too late - try to save the boys, or find the resistance and join? It was a choice he didn’t want to have to make. His only hope was Frosty’s apparent reluctance to let other Anathema take credit for her find. Maybe she would need to use another Anathema's activities to reach her own ends, like with Cold Eye’s mission to recapture them. Maybe they still had time.

Jason was wide-awake when the sun came up, still staring at the grubby white ceiling. And even with Dick’s comfortable weight against him the new dawn brought him no comfort, just a cold shiver of fear.


End file.
